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train · 5.16k rows

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Takakanonuma Greenland	https://www.creepypasta.com/takakanonuma-greenland/	8.04	April 26, 2013	297	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "In Japan’s Fukushima Prefecture, there is an abandoned amusement park known as Takakanonuma Greenland. It sits in the outskirts of Hobara, a section of the Japanese city of Date. Very little is known about this park, and its exact location is largely unknown. You can’t find it on any Japanese map, as it simply isn’t there. Supposedly, its coordinates are 37°49’02.16″N 140°33’05.78″E, but if they are put into Google Maps, the search will be directed to the center of Hobara. This is inaccurate, since the park is hidden in a mountainous, rural area.", "The only major information known about Takakanonuma Greenland is that it opened in 1973, and closed two years later. Some claim that this was due to poor ticket sales and needed renovations, but locals say that it was because of a significant amount of deaths on the rides. Miraculously, the park reopened in 1986, but struggled to remain open due to increased competition from bigger parks such as Tokyo Disneyland, as well as financial trouble. Finally, in 1999, Takakanonuma Greenland closed for good.", "Following its closure, the amusement park was left to rot. Photographs from urban explorers who have infiltrated the area show a massive amount of decay. The ferris wheel and the roller coaster are covered in rust, the entrance is covered in graffiti, and the premises are being reclaimed by plants. The most notable feature of the park is the dense fog that always looms over it, giving off a Silent Hill feel. Like the information about the area, there is very little photography and video of it.", "Allegedly, Takakanonuma Greenland was demolished in 2006, and now sits as an empty lot. However, in 2007, a citizen of the United Kingdom named Bill Edwards claimed to have visited an untouched, completely intact park. Supposedly, he took numerous pictures that were identical to those taken before the park’s supposed demolition, showing the same rusty, forgotten rides. However, according rumor, when uploading these photos, only one appeared on his computer. This picture shows the entrance to the park on a foggy night, illuminated by the flash from the camera. In the center of this picture, you can barely make out the figure of what looks like a six year old girl in a white dress. She appears to be staring at the photographer with a serious, indifferent face.", "The girl has never been identified, and the whereabouts of Bill Edwards are currently unknown…", "****", "The above was a recently submitted pasta, but it’s about a very real place. Takakanonuma Greenland did, in fact, exist. You can Google image search the name and come across a host of creepy photos of the misty, decaying amusement park. Some people claim that it’s the basis for the creepy amusement park/portal to the spirit world in Spirited Away, though I cannot find any confirmation of that particular theory. The park has even been tied to the mysterious rusty clown head that I use as my avatar – though it seems that almost every single abandoned amusement park has been named as the source of the image (most popular theory is that it’s from a park in Chernobyl, but I’ve seen many people saying that’s not true at all).", "If you’re interested in reading more about Takakanonuma Greenland, here are some links:", "Late At Night: Location #1: The Abandoned Takakanonuma Greenland Park, Japan\nTakakanonuma Greenland @ Tumblr’s abandonedplaces\nTofugu: Japan’s Abandoned Amusement Parks\nTakakanonuma Greenland @ AtlasObscura\nDark Roasted Blend: Abandoned Amusement Parks in Asia", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Waterfarmer	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-waterfarmer/	6.61	April 24, 2013	297	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "The Waterfarmer", "Tonight he had purpose. The number was to be twenty…twenty of the best. Or at least the best he could find. The twenty were to be found in the water; in their place of rest. They will be part of the offering; an offering that must be made.", "Out to sea he realizes he must go and in the horizon an aged wooden boat, similar to a small, rotting schooner appears to him as a specter of the sea. His Dark Captain greets him at the peer and waves him aboard as a servant would greet an expected guest. It is known that the Dark Captain, shaped as a shadow of a large pirate, will guide him through to the soon to be chosen, with his oar in hand, steering through the salty, dense, and suffocating fog.", "There were others fishing. He could sense it though he could not see them, these competing fishermen. Their presence weighed down the air as though a final plea, a plea for life, was soon to be heard. The pressure mounted as the urgency was palpable. And soon his lottery would be chosen.", "And there they were, floating like underwater rows of corn. Souls, the ghost of weathered men and women made of oily liquid and illuminated smoke, familiar yet not. Vast fields of past experiences sprinkled the sea mirroring the starry night above in darkness, silence and spectacle. The harvest was to be made both quickly and with utmost certainty. He, the waterfarmer, the fishermen, must choose his bait wisely and throw back the unworthy catch, for there would be only one offering.", "The selections were to be made through the senses, not just of those senses of the physical world, but of the metaphysical as well. He must feel their energy, their being and emotion, their wisdom and sin, what made them who they were and what will make him part of them, part of one. But how would he know? Understanding the task at hand but not the how, he fished, reaching his hand as far as he could toward the water touching soul after soul, each time rejecting yet taking a part of them with him as though he were collecting letters to home from lonely soldiers. Catch after catch is made and thrown back…until he finds one and another…each choice made filled a hole in his spirit, like a mathematically perfected piece of a whole. He now knows that these chosen few represent his past, his present and most importantly, his future.", "As each undeniable link is made with these lonely souls, each one manifests itself onto the Dark Captains schooner, slowly floating upside the boat, over the edges and into their place in the pews much like mercury finds itself. Only these souls start taking shape into ghostly men and women with cloudy and hollow eyes, skin of liquefied pearl, and strikingly faceless. They begin to slug into a pool at the bow of the ship. As the souls gather they begin an entangled embrace, one after another, taking a liquescent shape.", "At the base of the creation, broad backs and strong chests stack in rows and depth to solidify the structure above six stacks of feet, hands and knees. A backrest of sturdy shoulders begins to form. Armrests made of thighs melt together with the smooth curve of breasts at grips. The heads and bones gather at the top of the nine-foot design creating a complex helixed catacomb revealing the shape of an incomplete but great throne of pearly iridescence. This beautiful architecture will be his offering.", "The boat is almost filled with the remaining faceless twenty, each one sitting at the inside edge of the pews when the Dark Captain points to a massive foggy wall slowly approaching. Time is running out to finish the harvest. The Doctor will soon have his gift and his future may be granted.", "The Patient", "He is lost in a nauseous stare. His fever has peaked now and his energy is seeping through his pours as if it is an August afternoon in the swamps. As they prophesized, the pounds melted away, thirty-seven of them in fact. Food would no longer be a pleasure but a chore. The shivers, fevers and cramps were undersold however. And he still has his flowing silver hair; a miracle by its own standards. Their poison was effective in its side effects but the results are an invasive surgery away. The visitation to his bladder tends to take an unkind path; as though the cancer and its’ treatment were not penance enough. Now he finds himself struggling to make the simplest of movements as he rushes toward the emergency room for time feels as though it is slipping away.", "The hospital is unusually quiet today. He notices there are no ambulances under the canopies and the parking lot seems empty. The entrance way is exceptionally bright as well as it leads down a narrow hallway walled with frosted glass. There is a nurse at the end of the path waiting patiently for her patient in front of the triage desk. Strangely there are only three people sitting idly in the large and bright waiting room, each with an expression of angst, uncertainty and desperation. The nurse, dressed in white scrubs and red lipstick simply points toward the waiting room with a smile and a nod. He knows the Doctor must be coming out soon.", "Walking with an ethereal gait, the extraordinarily tall and slender Doctor approaches the room wearing a long white and buttoned doctor’s coat and pressed white pants. He greets his patients with a smile and clinched hands.", "“We all know why we are here don’t we?” the Doctor asks. “Which ever one of you four brings me the best offering will be healed. Those who fail, do so, for as you know, I only have the time and inclination for one. Tomorrow your presentations will be made here. Go now to the water’s edge, the captains await.”", "He, the patient, did not understand. Had he not given enough to the Doctor? His tortured body, broken spirit, and dignity were only the obvious tokens he had bequeathed to this Doctor. Yet the price has not been paid? The other patients did not seem to bother with such tawdry questions. None of it mattered, all that mattered was the prize at hand and that the competition had begun.", "The Offering", "The elderly schooner breaks through the dense fog and a shore emerges. It is dusk now. To his left and right he can see the other three patients on their boats, each distinctly different from the next. He shares glances of guilt, pity, sadness and hopefulness with each of them; the emotions showing on his face as one would if they locked eyes with someone who had just lost someone. Three will fail. Three must fail.", "Having drifted ashore over large rocks and steps, the bow of the boat flattened out making a ramp leading to newly paved asphalt roads. Each boat had its own empty road leading in the same direction. In the distance up the large and wavy hill was no longer the hospital but the Doctor’s office surrounded by a magnificent cityscape sculpted by mismatched sized skyscrapers and crafted as though it could fit in a gigantic snow globe. This is where the offering would be delivered.", "In unison, the remaining souls gathered behind the throne and lifted it up onto their shoulders and began to march in a two row procession off the schooner. He quickly noticed that there was a soul missing from the middle of the procession that he now was forced to fill. Had he made a horrible miscalculation? Would the Doctor notice the error? His color, while sickly, was more vibrant than the faint oyster shell iridescence of the ghosts. Surely the Doctor would notice but what other choice did he have? The other patients were marching as well, each carrying something in the front of their procession, yet invisible to him. The scene was that of a New Orleans jazz funeral; intensely sad and heavy though awkwardly festive and beautiful. Yet he was the only patient to not be standing alone at the end of their marching party.", "He was confident his offering would still be enough, regardless of ritual.", "They soon reach the top of the hill and each march meets at the foot of the steps of the Doctor’s office with their invisible offerings. The office resembles the exterior grandeur of a city museum. While there were no parade goers on the street, the vast buildings were littered with strange figures cramming out of open windows for as tall as the eye could see. Their faces expressionless, yet body language showed a childlike wonder, grappling for a better look at an execution. The Doctor stands at the top of the elevation with a welcoming smile while taking in the spectacle of the event, pleased.", "The Doctor motions each patient forward with their offering and gestures them into his office. A shared expression of panic and qualm waxes over the other patients as they climb up the steps, each behind their procession and the last to enter the large arched double doorway entrance. After a few moments, each patient returns outside to the landing and each with an evacuated gaze. The Doctor finally locks eyes with him and calls for him to present his offering sending unease and hope shivering down his spine.", "The procession of souls begins to march up the stairs with the incomplete throne at the lead. The throne was not brought inside like the other gifts were. It was placed in the middle of the landing at the top of the steps directly in front of the Doctor and out in the open for his guests to admire. One by one the remaining souls morphed into the throne, each adding a different element and final touches to the masterpiece of his subconscious imagination. Towering over the Doctor, the throne shined with what appeared as glowing and pulsating white marble. It fluttered iridescence with every heartbeat for it was living architecture. At the top of the backrest, the helix hummed with the wisdom of the collective souls as though they would forever be guidance for its owner. It was complete, immaculate and divinely sublime. This throne was him, his shared soul with those chosen, his life experiences and combined energy from the life-forces webbed throughout his life. It was his purpose, revealed and stunning.", "The Doctor leaned over and whispered to him, “It’s beautiful.” Taking a lap around the glimmering throne, the Doctor sensually caresses it as thought it were water at his finger tips. He steps forward, arms thrown to the sky to his guests and yells with rebellious and incredulous tone, “IS THIS NOT BEAUTIFUL?!” All of the guests shrilled in excitement and quickly floated out of the windows, twisting up into the overcast sky, into the raised fog still lingering from the morning. The Doctor, clearly pleased, turned back at the patient and gave a wide smile full of large white and perfectly capped teeth.", "Drunk from the intoxicating vision of the moment, unease somehow penetrated him at the sight of it all. Then sobriety hit him as he thought to himself, “Why were twenty needed but only nineteen used? Why am I in the procession and the other patients were not? Am I part of my throne or is the throne made for me? What am I truly offering here?” As the last question rolled off his tongue he began to melt away, turning into a puddle much like his collection had done before creating his masterpiece.", "“You prayed to be healed did you not? Healed of pain, suffering, embarrassment, burden and uselessness? I am granting you answered prayer. You have brought me the finest of offerings and I warmly accept!”", "His head now nearing the floor to top off the puddle of self he has created, angst and dread fill his soul. His thoughts spoke to the Doctor one final time, “Who am I to question Your judgment, Your will? And yet, at my end, I still have questions…” The patients’ puddle flowed purposefully and split toward all six legs of the throne with his final piece, his head, solidifying the base of the left leg; his skull poking out just enough for the Doctor to rest his heel, in comfort.", "Credit To – StupidDialUp", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part Six: Burnt Offerings	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-six-burnt-offerings/	8.61	April 23, 2013	297	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "“It’s last call.”", "“Hey, like in that poem you know? ‘Hurry up please, it’s time!’ …sorry, I’ve had a lot to drink.”", "“We all have. And I, for one, don’t really feel safe going home after everything we’ve heard tonight.”", "“But all those stories can’t be true. Even if you believe in that kind of thing, there can’t be one city with so many secrets.”", "“Maybe it’s not the city that’s really the problem. Listen closely: What do you hear?”", "“My pounding head.”", "“The bartender throwing us out.”", "“My boyfriend leaving impatient text messages wondering where I am.”", "“Underneath all of that, I mean. Do you hear it? The ocean.”", "“But that’s miles away?”", "“Doesn’t matter. We’ve got the ocean on one side, the bay on the other, and the straits connecting them. We’re surrounded by the sea; you can’t get away.”", "“So what?”", "“Maybe the ocean is the reason so many strange things happen here. Maybe there’s something in the water. Here, we have a little more time before this place is really closed; let me tell you about it…”", "*", "“My mother told me he went off to become a frogman.”", "The stringer stopped writing, certain that she had misheard the old woman. They sat in a small, pretty house just a few blocks from the Ruins, a house that smelled persistently of cat despite no cat being evident. The old woman (her name was Marie Wayland; she was in her sixties but looked much, much older) had a voice only slightly more pronounced than silence and the stringer could never be completely sure that what she had written down was anything close to what the old woman had actually said.", "“A frogman?” the stringer asked.", "“That’s what they used to call a deep-sea diver in the old days, on account of the flippers and the wetsuit. And the goggles.” She mimed goggles over her eyes. “He always said that’s what he’d wanted to be when he grew up, so when he ran off that’s what mother told me he was doing.”", "The stringer nodded and continued writing, without comment. The conversation was going on forty-five minutes and the frogman thing was the most coherent comment she’d gotten so far. She checked the time and found that the light would waning outside. She would have to hurry if she wanted to shoot the Ruins today. She skipped to her last question:", "“I understand that he was an artist, but no one ever exhibited his work?”", "“That’s right,” Marie said. “In fact, here.” The old woman stood; she was not a little old woman, despite her tiny voice. She was tall and thick-limbed. She reminded the stringer of a huge bird, a crane or a stork. The old woman brought out a flat package a little over a foot on each side, wrapped in brown paper.", "“You mentioned that on the phone and I thought your magazine might like to use this in the article. It’s a charcoal sketch he did. Go ahead and keep it, I’ve got plenty more just like it. Hundreds, maybe. Mother kept them all, after he left.”", "The stringer accepted the package, feeling as if she were receiving an unwanted Christmas gift from a relative she barely knew. She left with the package under her arm and her camera around her neck, glad to be free of that clinging cat odor. Forty plus minutes of conversation had yielded less than a page of notes, but with the sun at just the right angle on the horizon it was not too late to get some good shots of the Ruins; the day needn’t be completely wasted.", "The smell of the salt breeze coming from the beach stung her nostrils. The stringer had never particularly liked the ocean. She’d rather have lived anywhere but a coastal city, but the city was where the work was. She’d had a regular position as a staff photographer at a decent magazine for a while, but now she was back to being a stringer, living off of freelance work and making it by job to job. The assignment about the Ruins had been a lucky break, but breaks were fewer and further between all the time. She crested the hill and started down the hiking trail, toward her destination.", "The beach that served as the fringe to the city’s westernmost side terminated on the north in a series of rocky pools particularly hazardous to anyone traversing the coast, by land or by sea. But the spectacular views of the waves crashing against the shore had always encouraged developers to build on the bluffs overlooking the area, which is why, a hundred years ago, the old mayor built his theater palace here. People in the city would come all the way out to the beach complex for circus acts and dancing shows and the indoor pool and whatever else the wizards who owned the place cooked up. They’d even had a museum of ancient Egyptian artifacts. But in the ’50s it fell on hard times and the family sold it to an outsider, George Wayland, who closed it ten years later and then skipped town. No sooner was he gone than the whole thing burnt to the ground.", "Wayland himself disappeared, apparently never disembarking from the ship that carried him away from the city. He left behind a wife, a daughter (now an old woman who lived just a few blocks away in her cat-smelling ho use), and a legacy of unanswered questions. And the place where the pool and circus and the museum once was sat untouched for decades, slowly falling apart, filling in with water and silt and wild plants until it resembled an ancient ruin. And that was what people called it: the Ruins. It was never fully torn down; folks decided they liked the look of it. The crumbling stone walls and enormous, water-filled pits alongside the beach and the coastline looked more like the remains of a Roman village than anything a turn of the century showman built. The city decided they were beautiful. Although, the stringer reflected, as she set her tripod on a hill, to her the place had always looked creepy as hell. Even when she and Randy played down here as kids, she’d never liked it.", "But she couldn’t afford to only take the jobs she liked. It was fifty years since the fire and since George Wayland disappeared, and his legend had only grown, so the magazine editors decided to run a big piece: “George Wayland, Man and Myth.” It didn’t matter that there was nothing new to write about it or that the stringer’s photos would be just like any others that anyone had taken in five decades; people liked the mystery, and the mystery would sell magazines, which meant the stringer could sell photos.", "She spent an hour shooting. She caught the Ruins at sunset and the Ruins at twilight and even the Ruins at night, when it was really too dark to still be shooting but she kept shooting anyway. By the time she put her camera away the only light, besides the moon, came from the hotel on the cliffs to the south. It was just enough light to see Seal Rock by, although the stringer decided that at this time of night it didn’t really look like a rock at all. It looked like some giant whale just offshore was sticking its head up to get a good look at the city. A whale, or something else.", "She went home. There was a note on the door; Sam had stopped by. She’d forgotten they had plans. That explained the flashing voice mail indicator on her phone as well. She ignored both, going inside and uploading the new photos. She missed the days of her old film camera; digital just wasn’t the same, but it was cheaper and faster. Another compromise she’d made with the world. She studied the twilight photos most closely, scanning every square inch of the image. Nothing unusual was there, but she kept looking anyway. After two hours, she gave up. Another wasted day. She flopped onto the couch, picking up the magazine off the table. She turned to the most well-worn page, and there was a smiling picture of George Wayland and the headline: “George Wayland, Man or Myth?”", "The magazine had gone to stands two weeks ago. She’d turned in the photos for it a week before that. The money from it had already been spent. She should have been chasing other leads, should have been getting after editors for more assignments, should have been paying her bills, but instead she kept going back to the Ruins day after day, taking more worthless photos. Hitting up the old woman had been a desperation move, and she’d felt bad about lying and saying she was there on assignment (the old bat was so senile she didn’t even remember reading the finished article when it came out), but it was the only lead she’d had. Now it was a dud too. She should give up on it. But she couldn’t. There was something about the Ruins only she knew. Something she couldn’t let go of.", "Thinking about the old woman reminded her of the sketch. She’d left it by the door, still wrapped in brown paper. She retrieved it. When the package was open she flinched; it was, as promised, a charcoal sketch. It depicted a mirror-flat expanse of ocean disturbed by an anomalous sea creature breaching the surface, foam spraying from its jaws and water streaming down its huge body. It was impossible to tell what the animal was actually supposed to be, but it made her think of some kind of dragon, bristling with flippers and fins. It was impossibly ugly. A few human swimmers were added for scale; they were tiny next to the monster, so small they were practically stick figures.", "The stringer frowned; why the hell would Marie Wayland give her this? Then she chided herself; the old bird was nuts, what did she expect? And what had she said? That her father had done hundreds like this? She suddenly wished she’d had it before the story went to print. The editor probably would have loved it. It would have gone great with that one ‘graph toward the end, how did it go? She picked the magazine up and read:", "“Urban legend persists that Wayland himself set the fire that destroyed the pool complex. Not as an insurance scam, but to destroy the evidence of the secret, ritual murders he supposedly committed there. No serious historical evidence suggests any truth to these rumors, but local kids still sneak down to the Ruins late at night in hopes of hearing the ghostly screams of those said to have died there.”", "The stringer snorted. All bullshit, of course. But people in this city loved their ghost stories. Randy had, too.", "She went back to the sketch. Something about it was bothering her. On a hunch, she opened the back of the frame and removed the delicate paper. In the lower right hand corner something was written. She thought at first it was Wayland’s name or initials, but now she saw it was a word she didn’t recognize. The closest she could decipher it was:", "“Aspidochelone.”", "Curious, she went the computer to look it up:", "“Aspidochelone is a fabled sea monster, variously described as a large whale or vast sea turtle. It was supposedly so large as to be mistaken for an island, its great shell appearing like a rocky outcropping. In some traditions, Aspidochelone is believed to be the Bible’s ‘great fish’ that swallowed the prophet Jonah. Other myth cycles persist that it was an avatar of the devil.”", "The stringer frowned. She held the sketch up to one of her photos of seal rock by night: the sea monster’s humped back was in the exact shape of the stony island. Then she looked more closely at the swimming figures Wayland drew; at first she’d thought they must be fleeing the creature, but now it seemed they were actually swimming toward it. And they did not appear entirely human; they were bulky and shapeless things, though the tiny scale made it hard to determine their exact form. Even so, a little thrill went through her. She turned to the computer and clicked the file right in the middle of her desktop. A picture of the Ruins popped up; not any of the pictures she’d taken today and not any of the pictures she’d sold to the magazine. This was a picture only she had seen, a picture taken three weeks ago, just at dusk.", "Everything was there as it should be: the crumbling walls, the deep pools, the shore, the surf, the rocks. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance; she’d almost missed it herself the when she’d uploaded the photos. But there, in the deepest pool right in the center of the Ruins, just beneath the surface, there was a shape. The water was dark and the light was poor, so it was hard to tell, but it looked remarkably like a person swimming to the surface. No, not a person; not quite. Just something a little like a person. Something that might live in the water and stay out of sight of normal people, until night came, when it could come to the surface without anyone seeing…", "This picture was the reason she kept coming to the Ruins. This picture was the reason she’d interviewed the old woman, and the reason she kept reading and researching about George Wayland. This was the reason she hadn’t worked or seen Sam or any of her friends in weeks. This picture, and the memory of something splashing in the water behind her as she folded up her tripod and left that day, and an older memory, one of Randy, and his frightened voice in the dark.", "She held the Wayland sketch next to her monitor. The shape in the photo was ill-defined, and the figures in the sketch were tiny, but they looked alike. Didn’t they? She flipped back and forth between her photos: The rock, and the back of Aspidochelone; the swimmers, and the shape in the pool. Yes, they all matched. And that meant…", "What did it mean? The stringer wasn’t sure. She rubbed her forehead; it was late, and she hadn’t slept enough all week. She turned the computer off and flopped into bed, not even bothering to take off her shoes. Outside, the wind was blowing. The branches of the trees scraped her windows. Her water bill was due tomorrow. Her rent was due a week later. She didn’t know where the money would come from. She told herself she should not spend tomorrow afternoon at the Ruins again and should not spend tomorrow morning at the library or the historical society, looking for any new information about George Wayland. She should look for work instead. But she knew that she wouldn’t. She couldn’t let this thing go. She felt like she owed it to Randy. Poor Randy. After all these years…", "As she slept, she thought she heard rain splashing on her window. But she couldn’t be sure.", "", "In her dream, she was six years old again. In her dream, her older brother was waking her up in the middle of the night. In her dream, she rolled over and said, “What is it, Randy?” And her brother sounded frightened as he said:", "“It’s the man. The man from the beach.”", "She sat up under the covers. She could not see Randy in the dark, but she knew he was right by her bedside. “What man?”", "“The one from last night, when we snuck down to the Ruins. Remember, I told you I saw him in the water?”", "In her dream she was frightened, but she didn’t show it. She knew Randy was only trying to scare her. “I remember calling you a liar. You didn’t see any man in the water.”", "“I did. But he wasn’t really a man; he was all scaly, like a fish, and he had a horrible face.”", "“You didn’t see any man,” she said. But her voice cracked. “Go back to bed.”", "Randy was quiet for a second. She said again, a little louder:", "“Randy? What’s the matter?”", "In the dark, Randy shivered.", "“What’s the matter is…he’s outside our window…”", "The stringer was screaming. No, someone else was screaming. No, that wasn’t a scream, it was…the phone?", "She sat up in bed (her feet ached; really should have taken off her shoes before she fell asleep…) and groped for her cell phone on the bedside table. The tiny, shrieking ring cut off as she pushed the button. “Hello?” she said.", "“He came and talked to me,” said a tiny voice on the other end.", "The stringer blinked and sat up. She checked the clock: four in the morning. Then she looked at the call number: it was Marie, George Wayland’s crazy old daughter. Never should have given the old bat my phone number, the stringer thought. “Who talked to you?” she said.", "“My father.”", "The stringer jolted awake. She almost dropped the phone, but stopped herself. After swallowing the lump in her throat she said: “Your father?”", "“Yes,” said Marie. Her voice was even softer than usual, but it was brimming with enthusiasm. “We had such a nice talk. And he gave me a message for you. He told me to call you right away.”", "“Marie, your father would be…” She did the math. “A hundred and four years old, and missing since 1966?”", "“I know. He looked really good for his age.”", "The stringer laughed; she couldn’t help it. Kicking her shoes off, she rubbed her sore feet. “So what did he tell you that couldn’t wait until morning?”", "“He said to tell you that the fire was the important thing.”", "“What does that mean?”", "Marie sounded confused. “He said you would know.”", "“Not a clue.” Now that she was fully awake and the residue of her dream was fading the conversation seemed a bit more real. She wondered if Marie had been dreaming too; or maybe there wasn’t much difference between waking and dreaming once you went that nuts?", "Then Marie said: “Randy was here too.”", "The stringer almost dropped the phone.", "“Oh, he had a message for you also,” Marie said. “He said for you to remember what he told you about Obie.”", "This time the stringer did drop the phone. When she picked it up again Marie was saying goodbye. “Wait!” the stringer said, but the call ended.", "She considered calling back, but instead she set the phone aside and stared at the window, stunned. “Remember what he told you about Obie?” Impossible. The old woman couldn’t possibly know about that. The stringer racked her brain trying to remember if she had ever mentioned her brother’s name during the interview. Of course, she hadn’t; why the hell would she? She wanted to call back right that second and demand an explanation. It took her a moment to realize why she wasn’t: She was afraid.", "She went to her computer. The fire was the important thing, huh? She pulled up all the notes she’d gathered about the fire at the Ruins. She read it all again. She even watched the old newsreel footage of it the fire as it happened. She gathered no particular insights from it. She sat at her desk for another hour, lost in thought. When it was late enough in the morning, she picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart by now. A voice on the other end said: “Western Neighborhoods Project.” She asked for the director by name. They were one of the oldest and busybodiest historical groups in the city. If they couldn’t tell her what she wanted to know, nobody could.", "She was afraid she might go to voicemail, but eventually the woman she wanted answered. “Hello Dr. Olmstead,” the stringer said. “I had another research question for you.”", "“About the Ruins?” Olmstead said. “I thought your magazine already ran that story?”", "“They did, but I’m doing a little follow up.” She paged through her email as she talked; no paying offers, although there were plenty of blogs who wanted permission to run her photos. None were offering any money. “I was just wondering, about the fire…” She hesitated.", "“Yes?” Olmstead said.", "Not entirely sure why she was asking, the stringer said, “I was wondering…is there any truth to the rumors that human remains were found in the wreckage?”", "“None at all,” Olmstead said. But she said it too fast. As if she’d been expecting it and had that answer prepared.", "“I see,” the stringer said. “I thought that…well, it’s just, I have a lead that there was something unusual or…important about the fire itself, and I was just wondering if there was anything that wasn’t already common knowledge?”", "“I don’t think so. I’m afraid I really have to go, Miss—”", "“What about the name Aspidochelone, do you know anything about that?” It was a shot in the dark, but as soon as she said it the stringer knew she’d hit the mark: Olmstead gasped. She covered the phone so that the stringer wouldn’t hear, but she was too slow. The stringer’s scalp tingled with the excitement of a new lead. “Doctor?” she said. “Are you still there?”", "“Yes, but I…let me call you back.” Before the stringer could say anything the line went dead. She set the phone down, deciding to give it twenty minutes before she called back. After eighteen, the phone rang.", "“I’m going to give you a name and a phone number, and then that’s the last thing I want to hear about this,” Olmstead said. The stringer didn’t argue, grabbing her notepad and a pencil. “The man you want is named Allen. I’ve already spoken with him and he has time for an appointment today. He lives here in the city.” The stringer wrote down the name and the number when Olmstead gave it.", "“Thank you, Dr. Olmstead,” the stringer said. “I really appreciate—” But by then Olmstead had hung up again.", "The stringer stopped to lock the door on her way out. As she did, her eyes fell across something on the floor, a wet spot on the hallway carpet. She frowned; the stain hadn’t been there the night before. Whatever someone has spilled, it smelled back, gray and briny. It reminded her of the ocean. If she turned her head, it almost looked like a footprint, although not a print that would be left by any normal foot…", "She hurried down to the elevator and out into the street. Her appointment was in an hour. She could just barely make it.", "", "The door said: “Z. Allen,” nothing else. It was the kind of nameplate you usually saw on a college professor’s door, but it was fixed to the front of an ugly little house on Laguna Street. It was so out of place that it made the stringer hesitate before knocking, and before she could work her nerve up again the door opened on its own. She was greeted by a bald, pop-eyed man, probably the same age as Marie Wayland. He smiled and greeted her by name. “Dr. Olmstead said you’d be stopping by. Let’s talk in the library.”", "The library turned out to be a spare bedroom converted into ad hoc office, though there were a great many shelves full of aged books. There were two pictures on the wall, one of a young woman holding a baby and one that seemed to be a much younger Z. Allen, surprisingly wearing a fireman’s uniform. The stringer sat in the spare chair, notebook at the ready, and then she realized she actually had no idea what she wanted to ask. Allen came to her rescue:", "“I suppose you want to know about the Dagonites?”", "“I do? I mean, yes, I do.”", "“Old Olmstead sounded annoyed when she called. She hates people pestering her about the Dagon thing, but I love to talk turkey about it. Or tuna, as the case may be.” The stringer could tell she was supposed to laugh at this, so she did.", "“Are you on the board of the Western Neighborhoods Project?”", "“No, I’m just someone they keep on call. Amateur historian. With my own peculiar specialties. In this case, the Esoteric Order of Dagon. What do you know about it so far?”", "“Um, not much.” She scribbled the words “Esoteric order dgn” on her pad, the unfamiliar “Esoteric” spelled in full so she would not mistake it later.", "” I guess you’re too young to remember the Summer of Love?”", "“I’m more of a winter person.”", "“Yes, there’s not too many of us original flower children left. What people don’t realize is that the counterculture wasn’t just free love and walking barefoot down Haight Street. There were all sorts of…well, I hesitate to call them cults, but let’s say, new and alternate religions and belief systems that were popping up around that time. Especially here in the city. Krishnas, the People’s Temple, Scientologists, hell, even the Church of Satan.” He made a vague gesture.", "“And the Order of Dagon?”", "“Indeed, the Order of Dagon. Although according to them, they weren’t exactly new. They said they were thousands of years old, maybe tens of thousands. The Dagonites were something else. A special case even in a time of special cases.”", "“What did they believe?”", "“Hard to say. They were very secretive. And there weren’t very many of them, maybe a dozen in the city altogether. The came from back east somewhere.”", "“Why’d they come here?”", "“Religious pilgrimage. They said this was a sacred site. They worshiped the ocean, you see. No, not the ocean exactly; an ocean god. They called it Dagon, but sometimes other names: Cetus or Tiamat or—”", "“Aspidochelone?”", "“Yes, that was one.” He looked at her strangely for a moment. “They said that it was an ancient sea creature older than the world and they took just about any myth about a sea monster to be a story about their ‘god’ by some name or another. They were all completely nuts, of course; even back then we could tell.”", "The stringer pondered for a moment. “What does this have to do with the Ruins?”", "“Haven’t you guessed? Before he disappeared, George Wayland was rumored to be a convert to the Esoteric Order of Dagon.”", "“So the urban legends about human sacrifice…?”", "“Related. The Dagonites didn’t practice human sacrifice, of course. But they did have a peculiar ritual that made people ask lots of questions after Wayland disappeared.”", "The words scribbled in her notebook jumped out at the stringer: “The fire is the important thing.” She bit her lip.", "“They gave burnt offerings to their god, didn’t they?”", "“That they did. Sea creatures were best, but apparently anything would do: a dog, a chicken. The bigger the better, as long as it was dead already. You could burn objects, too, if they were important enough to you.”", "“The bigger the better? Say, an entire building?”", "“Now you’re getting it. And with Wayland believed to be associating with Dagonites, and all of them disappearing around the same time he did, and then his complex burns down…well, you can guess what people thought.”", "The stringer was writing faster than she could keep up with. “And this was an important ritual for them?”", "“The most important of all. A burnt offering at the right holy site was supposed to awaken Dagon, or Aspidochelone, or whatever you want to call it. And then…”", "The stringer sat forward. “Then what?”", "“Well, no one else ever really could figure that part out.” Allen sat sideways in his chair a bit, looking at her in his peripheral vision. “All they would ever say is that after that you became ‘One with Dagon.’ But they’d never say exactly what that meant.”", "The stringer put her notes down. “And they all disappeared?”", "“In 1966, virtually the same day as the fire.” Allen folded his hands and arched his eyebrows, seemingly inviting her to draw her own conclusions.", "“‘One with Dagon,'” the stringer repeated. “Is there anything else?”", "“Not much. Here,” He handed her a thumb drive. “I have a special file on it, for when people come asking.”", "The stringer blinked. “Do people ask about this a lot?”", "“Not a lot. But often enough.”", "“I’ve never heard anything about it.”", "“Well, they don’t usually share what they learn.”", "“Why not?”", "“You’d have to ask them. Although truth be known I understand that most of them usually leave town for one reason or another. I’ve never talked to the same person twice about it, except for Dr. Olmstead.”", "“But why—?”", "Now Allen’s face told her she shouldn’t ask anything else. Taking the thumb drive, she thanked him and left.", "", "Sam had left another note on the door: “We have to talk.” The stringer ignored it. She stepped over a pile of bills overflowing the mail slot, going straight to her computer, plugging in the thumb drive and not even bothering to check her email for the job offers that wouldn’t be there. This was more important. She poured over Allen’s notes, but in truth she didn’t really need them. She’d figured it all out. They’d given her all the answers that morning: “The fire was the important thing,” and “Remember what he said about Obie.”", "In her mind, the stringer was six again, and her brother was waking her up, scared, in the middle of the night, and pointing to the window. “It’s the man in the water,” he said. “He says I have to go with him.”", "She looked at the window for a split second, but then looked away. Was there really something there? She didn’t want to know. Instead she hugged the covers tighter and said, “You’re fibbing. If there’s really someone there then go get Dad.”", "Randy shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t’ want him to know…” His voice faltered for a second. “I did a bad thing,” he said. “I…I dug up Obie.”", "“What?” she’d sat all the way up then, too angry to still be afraid.", "“I’m sorry!” Randy said. She could tell he was crying.", "“He was my cat, mine!”", "“I know, I know! But I’d heard, I mean, they say that if you take something, you know, something dead, and you burn it at the right spot—:”", "“Burn it? You mean you…?”", "“I’m sorry! I just wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to have something to show you when we snuck out. And now…now he says I have to go with him.” And Randy pointed to the window again. And she had looked. And as much as she’d tried to, she never really forgot the face she saw there…", "She’d run then, screaming, into Dad’s room, and he said that it was just a nightmare. But when they got back to the bedroom, Randy was gone. The window was open, and there was water on the floor. And nothing was ever the same again.", "She never told anyone what Randy said about Obie. And she never told about the face at the window, though for a long time she’d only ever remembered it in dreams. The photo made her really remember again. That shape in the water, just a little too familiar, just a little too human…", "Her phone beeped; she started. Hours had passed, and it was dark out now. She assumed the message was from Sam and she was about to turn the phone off, but then she saw that it was an unfamiliar number. The message said:", "COME 2 MARIES. HURRY.", "And beneath that:", "RMBR OB", "That was all she needed. She was out the door in a flash. She barely had the presence of mind to bring her camera. She ran two red lights crossing town. What would the tickets matter? They could pile up, unopened, with the rest of the bills. She came to Marie Wayland’s house. The door was open, so she let herself in. That strange cat odor was gone. It had been replaced by something else.", "She found Marie at the foot of the stairs. She must have taken a nasty fall. Or perhaps, the stringer couldn’t help but think as she observed the wet and misshapen footprints still visible on the carpet, a nasty push? It didn’t matter. The stringer wrapped the body in a blanket and then lifted the ungainly, long-limbed corpse and hauled it outside. Dear God, she thought, what if the neighbors see me? She hastened to get the body in her backseat as fast as she could. She searched the garage and came up with a gas can that had a slosh of liquid in the bottom, and she took that too. And then she was driving to the Ruins.", "There were no tourists, no joggers, and no kids around this time. That was lucky. The trail leading down was steep and she had a hard time with her arms full of the old woman’s body, and dragging the gas can along too. She wondered, briefly, if she really had to go this far with it, but the text message had made it perfectly clear for her George Wayland had needed to burn this whole place down to do the trick for himself and a dozen other Dagonites. Randy had only needed a cat, but he’d been eight years old. The bigger the better, Allen had said, so the stringer wasn’t going to take any chances. She suspected you only got one shot at this.", "The ocean wind was particularly cold that night. There was no moon, but she could see the great rock off the coast anyway. Was this the right spot? It had to be. Where else was there? She set the corpse down in the rolled up blanket and doused it with gas. She hoped no one from the hotel was watching. She only needed a minute without anyone interrupting to do this right. The box of matches rattled in her trembling fingers; it took four tries to get a match that stayed lit even with the wind. She held her breath, looking at the bundle on the wet sand. Was she really going through with this? But then the match dropped from her fingers and a WHUMP! of heat and black acrid smoke hit her square in the face, and the decision was out of her hands.", "The fire burned out fast, but the heat was intense. Sickening fumes from the blanket’s synthetic fibers mingled with even less pleasant odors. She held her breath as long as she could, and retched when she couldn’t. Nearby, the waves crashed against the rocks over and over again. She watched as the body burnt down to bones and the bones burnt down to ashes. She expected at any moment for someone to come along, for her to see flashing lights and hear sirens, but it didn’t happen. Nothing else happened either. When the embers were out, there was just a black spot on the sand and a lingering stench. The stringer wiped at her eyes; was that it? Had she not done it right? Or was it that she’d been wrong? That there was nothing to the stories? That she was going—", "Movement. Out there, somewhere? It was dark, but she could still swear that the huge rock, the small island just offshore, was moving? But that’s impossible, she told herself, the water here isn’t deep enough for anything that big. Unless most of it is buried? Buried in the ocean floor for thousands, maybe even millions of years, only stirring when someone made the offerings, when someone was ready to become One with Dagon? And that’s when she saw the lumbering shape coming toward the shore. The man in the water. And not just one. Lots of them were coming. Lots and lots, drawn by her signal fire. They paddled toward her, scaly flesh dripping with brine. She was glad it was dark; she still remembered that childhood face at the window. She did not want to see faces like that again.", "But she knew that one of those faces would be the one she was looking for. And then she’d finally be able to say that she was sorry. That she missed him. That she loved him. That she’d done all this just to see him again, one last time, no matter how.", "And then? The great rock (not a rock at all, of course) was still moving out in the surf. And those things coming to shore would not just leave when she wanted them to. She had made the offering; she had signaled that she was ready to become One with Dagon. She suspected that Dagon was not the type to take no for an answer.", "At her feet, in the tide, something splashed and slithered and slid through the muck on its belly. She saw something like a hand reaching up for her. If not for the wind and the surf, she would hear a roaring and crashing just off shore. It was time. It was time.", "Oh God—!", "**", "“…wait a minute, where did everybody else go?”", "“They left in the middle of my story. It’s just been you and me here for a while.”", "“Wow, geez, the place is closed. Chairs up and everything. Weird that I didn’t even notice…”", "“You were paying a lot of attention to me.”", "“I guess I was. So, is it true? I mean, did you really, you know, with the old woman’s body, and everything?”", "“Does that frighten you?”", "“Not really. I guess it should; it’s pretty awful. But for some reason it doesn’t. So what happened then?”", "“Oh, lots of things. Do you remember what I said, that some people think Aspidochelone is the fish that swallowed Jonah in the Bible? Well, everyone knows Jonah was in there for three days, but when he came out again he might not have been quite the same anymore.”", "“Isn’t that the point?”", "“I mean, he might have changed more than you think. That’s what happens when you become One with Dagon.”", "“But you look perfectly normal?”", "“It doesn’t happen all at once. My friends can tell you more about it.”", "“What was that? It sounds like something splashing…”", "“Those are my friends. They’re coming here now. They want to meet you.”", "“But the bar is closed?”", "“That doesn’t matter to people like us. Can you hear them on the stairs?”", "“Yes…”", "“Are you afraid?”", "“Yes.”", "“That’s good. But don’t worry; they’ll all like you. And they have lots more stories to tell. They’ve been around for a long time.”", "“I guess it’ll be okay then. …it will be okay, won’t it?”", "“…no.”", "", "", "", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part Five: God of the Fields	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-five-god-of-the-fields/	8.68	April 22, 2013	297	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "“I just wanted to say, none of you have any idea what you’re talking about.”", "“What’s that, lady?”", "“I couldn’t help but overhear—”", "“How hard did you try?”", "“Don’t give her a hard time. She looks like she has a story.”", "“I do. It’s not a story you’ll like to hear, though.”", "“Try us.”", "“I’m just saying, you all talk like you know these big secrets about what goes on in this city, but you don’t know shit. There’s only one secret. Only one secret that matters, anyway.”", "“Are you going to tell us what it is?”", "“I am. Not because you deserve to know it, but because listening to you talk made me angry. This story is your punishment.”", "“You hear that? We’re going to be punished.”", "“I, for one, am petrified.”", "“Should we beg for mercy?”", "“Ignore them, Miss. I’m very interested in whatever you have to say.”", "“It was a few months ago, just before Christmas. It happened because I was the last one leaving the theater. And because I had been Antigone…”", "*", "It was opening night. For the understudy, it was also closing night.", "She would still have a part in the chorus, of course. But tomorrow Evangeline would come back and claim her rightful place as the lead and the understudy would go back to being, well, an understudy. Learn the lines, watch the lead, perform your own small role, and wait, that was the game. Still, the understudy thought, at least I got one night in the spotlight.", "Not that they could afford decent lights. They couldn’t even afford a real stage, just an empty room with a performance space marked off. The house manager had added another row of seats in an act of delusional optimism (they could barely fill the ones they had) and now the chorus couldn’t move without elbowing each other. And the costumes didn’t really fit and there was no money to pay any of them and the heating in the old theater did not work anymore, leaving players and audience alike shivering even with as tightly packed in as they all were…", "But people still showed up, and the show still went on, and even the understudy couldn’t help but smile a little when she saw the Xeroxed playbills: “Antigone,” with the director’s name right under it and Evangeline’s right under that and the understudy’s own name (in much smaller print) toward the bottom. It was a good show, in spite of everything. A classic.", "The understudy was the last cast member to leave. Everyone else had gone out to celebrate, but she found she wasn’t in the mood. She carefully folded and hung the bits of her costume in the single communal dressing room so that Evangeline would have nothing to complain about when she came back from whatever “emergency” called her away on opening night. Glenda, the house manager, was waiting at the door and the understudy thought she might be annoyed at the holdup, but then the older woman smiled and whispered, “There’s a man here to see you.” As if were the most amazing thing in the world.", "The understudy picked up her purse and headed for the back door, but Glenda added: “He says he’s a critic.” The understudy stopped. “He says he won’t leave until he meets you. I think he really liked the show…” There was a note of pleading, and beneath that a note of insistence. The understudy wavered for a moment and then turned back toward the front. She tried not to notice Glenda’s smug, pleased expression as she did.", "As advertised, a man was waiting in the lobby. He wore a shabby suit of indeterminate color, and a brand new fedora hat. He was not a handsome man; in fact he was profoundly ugly. But when he saw her he grinned in a way that made him look, for a second at least, tremendously appealing. He fanned himself with his playbill and pantomimed a swoon. “Antigone,” he said, enjoying each syllable. The understudy told him her real name, but he waved it off. “Tonight, you’re Antigone. The finest Antigone I have ever seen. I first saw the play in 441, at the Dionysia in Athens, and you were a better Antigone tonight than I saw there, or anywhere since.”", "She gave him a non-committal look. He smiled again. “Can I walk you out?” he said.", "The correct answer, the safe answer, was no, because simply because a man claimed to be a theater critic (of no particular publication that he had mentioned, she noted) did not make it a good idea to wander off down Taylor Street with him in the middle of the night. And no was the sensible answer, because she had to rest after the premiere and because she felt a headache coming on. And she opened her mouth to say, “No, thank you,” but, somehow, it came out as, “Yes, that sounds lovely.”", "The strange man took her by the arm. Outside it was cold and the sky was that distinct shade of black that it only gets in December in the city. The uneven rows of tall buildings with their dark windows pushed higher and higher over them. Lights flashed here and there. The critic began walking downhill and the understudy (for some reason) went with him. He was still talking about her performance. She blushed, but feigned modesty. “I’m only the understudy,” she said. “Our real lead will be back playing the part tomorrow.”", "“No she won’t,” said the critic. “Evangeline will never play Antigone again, or any other part.” He said it with such conviction that the understudy was briefly speechless. She felt cold and afraid all of a sudden. Eager to change the subject, she said:", "“You haven’t told me your name.”", "“Pan,” the man said. He kicked a bottle into the gutter.", "“Like the Greek god?”", "“Not like him. I am him.”", "They stopped walking; the street was deserted, though on the cross street below she saw the glare of headlights and bumper-to-bumper traffic. She gave him another sober look. “Where are your hooves?” she said.", "“In my shoes.”", "“And your horns are under your hat, I suppose. It’s not a very good line. Anyway, you told Glenda you were a critic; I thought Pan was a nature god?”", "“The god of the fields, and of the summits, and the streams and the forest. The god of the shepherds, and the flocks, and the leaves and the grass. The god of the beasts and the spirits and the great far wild places where men are afraid to go but feel compelled to journey anyway. The god of the shadows under the boughs of the trees and the secret places in the furrows of the earth.”", "The understudy had been about to laugh at him, but when he was done speaking she found she couldn’t.", "“But,” he said, smiling again, “also the god of theatrical criticism. So you see, I am a critic. The first and the best.”", "“God of theatrical criticism? I’ve never heard that. What sense does that make?”", "“Because in those days plays were dedicated to the great god Dionysus, and I was his favorite companion, so who better to judge which playwrights were worthy and which were not? And because before the Athenians built their theaters the first actors gathered on the slopes of the green hillsides where I spent my days, and they wore the skins of goats, and they would drink and dance and sing in divine ecstasy and pour libations in my honor, and I liked that very much, and blessed their revels.”", "He was standing very, very close to her now. The long shadows of the winter night had not improved his unhandsome features, but he had a certain quality (perhaps his voice, perhaps his expressive features, or perhaps just what they call je ne se qua) that made him compelling to watch and be near. He even cupped her face in his rough palm, and she did not object.", "“But you don’t believe I really am the Great God Pan, do you, little Antigone?”", "“No,” said the understudy.", "“Then I’ll prove it to you.”", "“How?”", "“Come with me.”", "It was a stupid suggestion. Stupid, unsafe, illogical, insane. Anyone in their right mind would say no.", "She said yes.", "The man(?) took her by the hand and drew her away with him; not in the direction they’d been going but down the side street, and then down an alley. It was pitch black but he knew his way. In the dark it seemed to the understudy that his legs were twisted in some unearthly manner, making his gait long and wide. They encountered no one in the trash-strewn alley. The buildings they passed were just dark, blank shapes, black against black overhead. The understudy felt drunk and addled, somehow. Her mind could not focus on any one thing, and the world swam in front of her eyes, as if a film covered everything. It seemed they were moving very fast. When he finally stopped, she was out of breath. He pulled her close (his suit seemed to be made of some coarse hair, and it had a barnyard musk about it) and said, “We’re here.”", "She looked around and gaped; she recognized this place. It was the grove. But that was clear on the other side of town, miles away? How could they get here on foot, and so quickly? The leaning trunks of those huge, primeval trees offered no answers. The man with the crooked legs led her down the crooked path as she wavered on her feet, dizzy and uncertain (crooked of mind, she thought). He took her to the place with the stage. In the spring there was a music festival here every year. In the middle of winter it should be empty, but now torches lit everything with blazing orange light. The man sat down and actually pulled her onto his lap. She did not object.", "“How is my Antigone feeling now?” he said. Under the brim of his hat his eyes appeared very strange. The understudy groped for words and came up with:", "“‘In just spring…when the world is mud…'” She was reciting something from memory, but she did not know what. She giggled, then, uncontrollably. Her head throbbed. She felt as is she’d drunk a great deal of wine.", "“That’s good,” said the man. “Now we’re going to see a play. You showed me such sights on your little stage tonight that I thought I should return the favor. This play is called, ‘The Cyclops.'”", "“I know that one!” the understudy blurted out. “By Euripides. It’s a satyr play.”", "“Yes, and here are the satyrs.” He pointed to the stage with a gnarled finger and the understudy saw shapes converging there. They were men in costumes (at least, she thought they were costumes) of animal hide, with hooves that tromped the boards. They wore masks, but not masks like the understudy had ever seen; though simple painted wood, these masks had faces no human mind could conceive. The chorus (for that’s what the satyrs were) gathered at center stage and, at the strange man’s signal, they began to dance. Not just dance, but cavort, and leap, and even writhe, wretched and mad, heads wagging and eyes rolling. The understudy did not like the way that they moved; it was not natural. She particularly disliked the way that their legs bent. It hurt her eyes to look at them, but the strange man did not let her look away.", "“‘It’s spring, when the world is puddle-wonderful, the little lame balloon man whistles far and wee …'” he whispered to her. They were not the lines of the play, but lines from something else. The understudy knew them but could not remember where they came from or why they seemed important just now. The strange man shifted under her, and she felt the coarse hair of his bent legs rub through the fabric of her jeans and heard the stamping of his hooves as he kicked his shoes away. Onstage, the chorus finished their dance and then the chorus leader stepped forward. The understudy knew the play’s the opening lines:", "“Unnumbered are the toils I bear, no less now than when I was young and hale…”", "And the chorus joined him: “Here we have no gods, no roll of drums, or drops of sparkling wine. Dear friend Dionysus, where are you while we do service to the one-eyed cyclops, slaves and wanderers we?”", "When the understudy had seen “The Cyclops” before the satyrs had been funny, even when they complained, and the chorus leader had been old, fat Silenus, baldheaded and hapless. But these satyrs wept real tears and gnashed their (sharp) teeth and tore their hides with their twisted fingers, and the understudy did not like to look at them, or to hear them. Their voices were hollow and full of pain. Pain, and anger.", "“This is how the play was performed in the old days, before the theaters, before the Athenians, before Euripides gave it a name and wrote it on his scrolls and gave the parts to mere humans in masks,” the man said, whispering in her ear. “But this is still not, yet, the greatest truth you will see. Watch.”", "The play went on: Odysseus and his crew washed up on shore and met the satyrs, and gave them wine, and laughed as the satyrs got drunk and rowdy. The understudy would have thought the Greeks would not be as frightening as the satyrs, but their masks, though fully human, show faces line and creased with fret and grief, livid with anger and bitterness, or wan with utter despair. They were the faces of those who had suffered so much that they hated living. And though the understudy saw the strings that held the masks in place and the empty holes where the actor’s eyes peered out, it seemed, in the flickering torchlight, that the features the masks moved…", "The satyrs were warning the Greeks that their master was coming, but Odysseus was not afraid. “For surely the ghosts of Troy will moan in their graves if we flee from a single man after standing with shields steady against the fifty sons of Priam,” he said. “If we die here we will die a noble death, or, if we live, we will maintain our great renown.”", "And then there was a voice that made the understudy scream and cover her ears. Even with ears covered, she heard the words boom like thunder:", "“What means this idleness, your Dionysian revelry? Here have we no Dionysus, nor roll of drums. One of you will soon be shedding tears of blood from the weight of my club; look up, not down.”", "And now the trunks of the trees were shifting as if a huge wind were blowing them around, and now a great shape was stepping through, too huge for the whole of it to be seen in the light of the torches. The satyrs all scattered and the Greeks took up their spears, but most of them fell to their knees or clustered together, shaking and crying, as the cyclops loomed over them with its one huge eye and opened its great mouth to reveal rows of gore-spattered teeth. When it took a step the world shook and the understudy screamed again and shut her eyes and the universe was spinning and mad, and the Great God Pan caught her in his arms. When she opened her eyes, the stage was empty; the men and the monsters were gone.", "Pan whispered vile words in a language she did not know but still understood:", "“Don’t you like my play?”", "He no longer seemed even remotely human, and even the twisted, goat-like legs and horns were gone. Now he was a dark, slithering, shapeless thing, twisting and reforming around her all the time. The understudy blinked through tears. “What are you?” she said.", "“I am Pan; my name means ALL, for the Hellenites knew that I was no simple god of the fields. I am the heaviest rocks at the bottom of the earth and the tallest peaks at the edge of the sky. I am the deepest roots of the oldest trees that will never die and the beating hearts of the great beasts that swallow eons in their jaws. I am the long hour between day and night when nothing is real. I am frenzy and madness and death. I am a world that doesn’t care, that dashes your minds and bodies against the rocks and watches you break, and calls it good.", "“And when they began to fear me they cut down my forests and plowed under my fields and cut my rocks into columns and roofs and statues. And when Thamus reached Pilodes he told them, ‘The Great God Pan is dead,’ but it was not true. You have paved me over and cut me down and tried to drown me in the poison from your machines, but I can never die. I have always been here. And now I will show you the future of your wretched race. Look.”", "He pointed to the stage again. Pale, wretched figures, hairless, eyeless things shimmered into view, things that twitched and writhed, blubbery skin rolling across their bones as they danced. Pan whispered more:", "“What you are seeing is a piece called the Dance of the Nephilormus. They reenact the great battle that will take place on this spot, ten thousand years from now, between the human race and the nephil, which for them is ten thousand years in their past. Your kind will suffer and crawl the face of the earth and curse their enemies in that war, and they will call out to me to save them, but I will not. I will only do what I always do: endure.”", "“Take it away,” the understudy said, sobbing. “I don’t want to see the nephils.”", "“The nephils?” Pan laughed, and it hurt her ears. “These are not the nephil that you see. These are the humans!”", "And he laughed while she wept and the vile dancers flopped their shapeless limbs across the stage, worshipping Pan with their suffering. And she wondered, is this real, is this happening, or is this a dream? Did I leave with the others and drink too much and now lie, sweating and afraid, in the back of someone’s car? Or has my whole life up until now been a dream and this is finally the waking?", "The dancing went on and on, and soon the whole world spun in a mad circle in front of her eyes, blurring into nothingness, and she was left with just the same words, repeating over and over again in her head:", "“It’s spring and\nthe\ngoat-footed\nballoonMan\nwhistles\nfar and wee…”", "*", "“…”", "“Jesus!”", "“Lady, what are you on? Where can I get some?”", "“Go ahead and laugh at me if you want. It doesn’t matter.”", "“Miss, are you all right? Do you need a doctor, or a place to stay tonight?”", "“I’m not insane. And I’m not on any kind of drugs. What would I need them after what I’ve seen?”", "“Well I think she’s full of it.”", "“But I don’t understand; what even happened?”", "“Pan liked my performance, so he tried to reward me. But the things that a god calls a reward are the things that humans might call a curse. He showed me the truth about the world.”", "“And what’s that?”", "“That time and place are illusions. That what we call reality isn’t any more real than a play on a stage. If you were smart enough you could see the seams in everyone’s costumes and the frayed edges of the scenery, like he does, and like I can.”", "“So where’s Pan now, then?”", "“Hey, don’t mess with her. I don’t like that look she has.”", "“He’s in me.”", "“What?”", "“He’s in all of us. His name is ‘Pan,’; it means ALL, because he’s everything. We’re just nsects pretending that we matter, until the day comes when he’ll…”", "“Swat us?”", "“Something like that. Anyway, that’s all I had to say. I’m leaving. You can all stay, and drink your beer, and tell your ghost stories.", "“And pretend that it matters.”", "", "", "", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part Four: The Last Stop	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-four-the-last-stop/	8.66	April 21, 2013	297	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "“That reminds me of a story.”", "“What does?”", "“What she just said about being late to catch the train.”", "“Me? I didn’t say anything?”", "“Well, I’m sure I heard someone mention it, and that reminds me of a story that scared the hell out of me. Do you remember that subway drver last month who went nuts?”", "“Remember it? I was on that train.”", "“Do you want to tell the story about it then?”", "“What else is there to tell?”", "“A lot. Plenty of rumors around dispatch about that one. Not that I believe any of them, mind you, but the way I heard it, it happened like this…”", "*", "That voice was really starting to get to the driver.", "“We will depart shortly. Please wait.”", "They’d been hearing that for twenty minutes now. The train was stalled two miles into the Transbay Tube. It wouldn’t budge an inch, but the driver’s console showed that everything ought to be working, so it must be a problem with the tracks. She’d called it in, then assured her passengers everything was all right, and then waited. It wouldn’t be so bad if the PA didn’t seem to be on the fritz as well. Every few minutes a woman’s disembodied, mechanical voice chimed:", "“We will depart shortly. Please wait.”", "She couldn’t turn it off. She didn’t remember ever hearing that announcement before; but then, she’d never had a breakdown like this before either. The train hummed on its electric rails, sealed up inside a steel tube submerged 130 feet below the surface of the bay. Her ears were stopped up from the pressure the water above them. Up ahead, all the driver could see was darkness, the occasional lighting fixtures doing nothing except demonstrating precisely how pitch black it really was down here. She’d made this trip six times a night every night for seven years, back and forth across 30 miles of track between SFO and Bay Point, which meant back and forth through the underwater tunnel six times, and never before had she stopped to consider the crushing weight of all that water. She thought she could hear bolts straining and water dripping somewhere. Just her imagination, of course, but still…", "“We will depart shortly. Please wait.”", "She toggled the PA switch again; it hadn’t done anything the last five times, but she could help trying nce more. She checked the security monitors; the passengers seemed calm enough, considering the circumstances. Her four-car train held only seven people as they came up on one o’clock in the morning. Two were dozing and one was pacing the aisle. All but one had white earbuds snaking into the sides of their heads, and they would nod now and then to whatever they were hearing. She envied her rider’s calm. If it just weren’t so dark out there she might not be so frazzled. The tunnel looked like it went on forever. And if they had stopped anywhere but under the water. And if that damn voice would just knock it off…", "“We will depart shortly.", "“No one can hear me but you.", "“Please wait.”", "The driver blinked. What was that? She toggled the switch again, but of course, nothing happened. Up ahead one of the lights winked out. Or was that her imagination again? She fanned herself with her clipboard; the stalled train seemed hot and stuffy all of a sudden. The air conditioning was still on, according to her diagnostic panel. Perhaps it was just the confinement wearing on her. Would dispatch ever tell her what was going on? She thumbed the call button again.", "“Any word on that track problem?” she blurted it out, not even bothering to identify herself first. The only answer was static. She frowned and hung up. She began to sweat, and she pinched the ridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. A headache was coming on.", "“We will depart shortly, please wait” the automated voice whirred. Then: “They’re already inside. Look at the riders.”", "The driver’s eyes snapped open. What did it say? She looked up and did a double take. She grabbed a Windex-soaked rag and rubbed the monitor screens, but nothing changed. Something must be wrong with the cameras? Cars three and four looked fine, but in car two both of the sleeping passengers looked like indistinct, grey blurs. In car one (the same car she occupied, in the driver’s carriage up front) the pacing man looked perfectly normal, but the woman in the backseat with the earbuds in also appeared blurry and distorted, as if a film of cobweb or a tiny fog bank covered her body. The driver looked over her shoulder, peering into the car through the plastic divider; the woman was still sitting there, staring at the blank tunnel wall outside her window, nodding her head to whatever was streaming through the wires in her ears. She looked perfectly fine. The driver chuckled a little at having scared herself, then rubbed her temples. The annoying recorded voice pinged again:", "“We will depart shortly—", "“No we won’t. We won’t leave until what’s keeping us here lets us go. You are not watching the riders.”", "This time the driver was sure of what she’d heard. What the hell? She reached for the toggle.", "“You can’t turn me off. No one can hear me but you.”", "A tingling sensation crept across the back of the driver’s neck. Her hand froze halfway on the switch. Her fingers trembled.", "“Look at the riders again,” the voice said. She hesitated. “Look!”", "When the driver looked she squinted and then leaned in, as if being closer would somehow change what was there. Two more of her passengers had lost definition on the video feed, leaving only two still showing up clear. The driver tapped the screens. What the hell? The sight of those blurry figures gave her chills, for some reason. Their images seemed to wriggle and writhe, as if a cloud of tiny insects were crawling over them.", "The two sleeping passengers woke and, walking in unison, moved up to the first car. She expected to be able to see them clearly once they’d moved, but the grainy blur stuck to them as they moved. She looked over her shoulder again; both of them were in her car now. One was a teenager, short and fat, the other an old man, gray and thin. They sat side by side in the front seats, though they’d been separate before. The pacer didn’t seem to pay them any mind, but he did finally sit down. The driver watched as he fitted in white earbuds.", "“It’s spreading. They’re inside. You have to get out of here,” the train’s voice buzzed at her.", "“Shut up,” the driver mumbled. She looked at the monitors again: More passengers had moved up; four were in the second car now. They all sat rigid in their seats, and they all faced forward. None of them spoke. She called dispatch again, but this time there was not even static, just dead air. Outside, the tube lights were turning out one by one, and the train’s lights were flickering too.", "“Help won’t come in time,” said the train. The PA warbled’ it was losing power as well. “You have to run. They’re in the wires.”", "Now everyone was crowded into the lead car. All seven riders sat side by side in the front-most seats, staring at her. Their unblinking eyes looked flat and painted-on in the flickering florescent lights. She tapped on the plastic divider. “Folks,” she said, working hard to stop her voice from trembling, “they’ll be here to help us any moment. If you could all just head back to your original seats. We shouldn’t crowd the lead car in case…in case of an emergency.”", "No one answered. No one moved. The man nearest her removed his earbuds and looked at her. Her CCTV monitors were failing one by on. The faithful voice of the PA buzzed in her compartment, barely audible as the train’s electrical systems slowly died. “They’re turning everything off,” it said. “They’re…sorr—…tried to warn…they’re in the wires. They use the wires to…”", "The seven passengers all stood up. The driver went to open the door to her compartment, then thought better of it and locked it instead. Only the emergency lights were on now, and the passengers were dark blue silhouettes in the gray electric haze.", "“Folks, just return to your seats. Return to your seats and…and…” Her mouth went dry.", "“—oo late.” The PA was overwhelmed by static. “—ired in…—just voices.”", "The static cleared for a moment:", "“The dead are just voices, but we can travel through the wires, into machines, even into bodies, through the wires, through—”", "Seven shapes crowded around the window. The driver tried to shrink back, but there was no room in the tiny compartment.", "“The eight want new bodies. I told them not to do it but they wouldn’t listen. I tried to warn you. I tried. I—”", "The PA went dead. The consoles were all dark. Outside, the tunnel was a long black passage to nothing. Inside, only one light was working. The driver heard fleshy palms slapping against the divider. Someone was pulling on the door. The flimsy lock jiggled. The divider broke in half and fell in, and then hands were grabbing her, pullin her, dragging her out. They were cold hands. She was screaming now, but with two miles of empty tunnel on either side and 130 feet of water overhead there was no one to hear her. They held her down. “Let me go!” she said. She felt cold all over. She felt something that made her think of the icy belly of a snake slithering across her body. One of the passengers leaned in.", "“It’s okay,” he said. Cold breath tickled the driver’s ear. “It’s okay,” the passenger repeated. “We’re not going to hurt you.", "“We just want a ride.”", "*", "“…and then what?”", "“That’s it. I mean, someone finally showed up to evacuate the passengers from the trapped train, and when they did they found that driver curled up in a corner, screaming that she wasn’t herself anymore.”", "“Wasn’t herself?”", "“Yeah, you know, that there was someone else living inside her head now.”", "“Oh God, that’s awful. I’m never riding at night again.”", "“Man, this whole city’s going crazy.”", "“Is it just craziness, do you think?”", "“That’s a good question. I mean, look how many strange stories we’ve found right here in this bar. Maybe something terrible really is going on. Under the surface.”", "“Like I said, it’s all just rumors. Hey lady, you said you were on that train, right? Did my story…wait a minute, where’d she go?”", "“Lady?”", "“Ma’am?”", "“…huh. That’s funny. She snuck out?”", "", "", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part Three : Schism	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-three-schism/	8.66	April 20, 2013	297	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "“You want to hear the scariest story I know?”", "“Sure.”", "“Is it scarier than the last two? If it is then I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I think I’ll head home. I’m sure I’ve had enough to drink already.”", "“Don’t mind him. The rest of want to hear.”", "“Wait, is this going to be about more ghosts or vampires or whatever? Because I’m not buying into all this.”", "“It’s not like those other stories. I don’t believe in all of that bullshit. But there was something about it that reminds me of those ones…well, just let me tell you how it happened. This all went down only a few blocks from here, actually…”", "*", "She was a cutter.", "She was the only surgeon in the city who didn’t have to worry about keeping her patients alive. By the time they came to her, they were already dead. Her job was just to find out why.", "She was good at it. Every fresh cadaver had secrets; by cutting, she discovered them. And she knew as much about the human body as any other doctor. She knew hearts, for example; how they fit together, how they worked, and most importantly, how they could be hurt. The cutter would say that she understood the heart. In a certain sense, she was right.", "She knew about brains too, and about circulation, and the metabolism. She knew enough to be sure that the man tied up on the motel room bed had not had enough flunitrazepam to kill him, and that if she waited for long enough he would wake up, though he’d probably feel fatigued, have a headache, and suffer some short-term memory loss. Flunitrazepam, also known as Narcozep, Rohypnol, and Primum, was illegal in the United States, a class of psychoactive drugs commonly referred to as “roofies,” or simply “the date rape drug,” and she had employed it in the most common way, by slipping it into the man’s drink at a bar. She disliked the association with sexual assault, but it was simply the quickest and most convenient way to render a person unconscious.", "The man on the bed was also a doctor, a psychiatrist. His name was Walter Graham. He was fifty three, twice divorced, and had no children on account of a vasectomy his first wife encouraged him to get. He was very respected in his field, widely referenced in medical journals for one remarkable case he’d treated. He lived in a condo on Vallejo Street with a beautiful view. He abused prescription painkillers, watched rugby on the weekends, and liked cats. These were the things the cutter knew about him.", "In a way, they were alone together. Anyone else who walked in would see only two people in the room. But the cutter saw a third, another woman, a woman who stood in the corner and watched. This other woman (who was not, the cutter knew, really there in any tangible sense but who seemed no less real despite that certainty) would sometimes respond to the cutter’s questions by nodding or shaking her head. Other than that, she did not do much besides watch.", "The motel room, which the cutter had paid for in cash four hours earlier, was on the third floor of a dangerous-looking rattrap squeezed alongside nicer buildings between Mission and Valencia Streets. The carpets were filthy, the walls dotted with graffiti, and the rooms had no windows. The black and white television in each room played only two local affiliates, pornographic films, and static. It was a good place to stay if you liked the idea of being murdered without anyone noticing. She’d picked it because it was the kind of place where no one asked questions, even if you came in out of a cab with an unconscious middle-aged man slung over your shoulders in the middle of the night. All they cared about here was taking the money and minding their own business.", "Dr. Graham was secured to the bed frame by four pairs of novelty handcuffs that she’d bought in a sex shop on Folsom Street, where she went so that she’d run the lowest odds of running into anyone she knew. She waited for him to wake up. It took a long time. Flunitrazepam, she knew, could last up to twelve hours, but she was the patient type. Patience was a good quality in a cutter. When Graham took the first unsteady steps back into consciousness she sat down next to him. The stained mattress was thin and the bad springs creaked under her weight. He would be confused and prone to panic, and she didn’t want that. She looked at the other woman, who stood in the corner, watching without blinking. “Are you sure this is the best way?” the cutter said. The other woman nodded.", "Whispering, the cutter explained where he was and what had happened to him. She warned him that the restraints she’d used probably wouldn’t hurt him but he still shouldn’t struggle. And she assured him that she did not plan to kill him.", "“Trust me,” the cutter said. “I’m a doctor.”", "Graham, for the most part, kept his head. He licked his lips and when the cutter saw they were dry she gave him a sip from a bottle of water. The first thing he asked was, “Who are you?” She told him her name. He had heard of her. Some of his patients were police officers; one of them was struggling with feelings of guilt over his constant infidelity and as part of an exercise Graham had asked him to list all the women in his life he felt uncontrollably attracted to. The cutter’s name was the first he came up with. Graham told her all of this in one long run-on sentence, babbling and obviously not sure what he was saying by the end of it. He was not yet fully sober. He did not, she noticed, ask him what she planned to do next. Perhaps he knew better. Or perhaps he was too afraid.", "The cutter took a sip of water to wet her own lips and then said, “I want to talk to you about another one of your patients. Do you remember Cleopatra?”", "Graham blinked, brow furrowed. And then he laughed, too loudly. The cutter shook her head.", "“Maybe you’ll remember her if I show you a picture.” The cutter took a folded photograph out of her wallet. The only light in the room was the grainy, unreal blur of TV static, and Graham was still be dizzy from the drugging, so she had to hold it in front of his face for a long time before he made the soft little “Ah!” sound that indicated recognition. “You mean Jane,” he said.", "The cutter looked at the other woman in the room, the one who Graham couldn’t see even though she was right in front of him. The other woman nodded. So the cutter hit Graham in the face. He grasped. “Her name,” the cutter said, as Graham winced from the split lip she’d just given him “was Cleopatra. You killed her.”", "“What? No!” Graham tried to sit up, and the restraints rattled against the cheap aluminum bed frame. “First of all, you have it all wrong. Second, that was years ago. Third…third…” He paused, unable to focus for a moment, muttering nonsense before his train of thought reconnected. “Third, how do you even, I mean, what’s it to you?”", "The cutter unfolded the photograph. There was another woman in it, with her head on Jane’s (Cleopatra’s) shoulder, smiling. It was the cutter.", "“We met in medical school,” the cutter said. “Well, I was in medical school. She only said she was. That turned out to be…not a lie, exactly. More like a misunderstanding. Like a lot of things about her and us. Including her name. I guess you think the name Cleopatra is funny? It wasn’t to me. I loved that name. I loved her.” She folded the photo and put it away again. “Until you took her away from me.”", "Graham didn’t say anything for a while. The cutter was quiet as well. In the room next door, someone was making a lot of noise. Graham seemed to be preparing his next words very carefully.", "“I realize that these are strange circumstances,” he said. “But as a medical professional you should already understand what’s happened here. The woman in that photograph was—is—named Jane Cohen. She suffered from a rare psychiatric disorder, a disassociative identity. ‘Cleopatra’ was the name of an alter ego her subconscious invented. There was no way you could have known this when the two of you met.", "“Jane came to me because she said she was suffering from depression. She was wholly ignorant of her real problem, and it was two years before even I began to suspect it. Real disassociative personalities are very rare. In Jane’s case the psychosis emerged gradually; people invent alter egos and fantasy lives for themselves all the time. In Jane’s case it manifested itself in the most extreme way possible. I spent nine years treating her, restoring her to a single functioning identity with—”", "“I’ve already read your essays in the journals, Walt,” the cutter said. She stood up. “You’ve done very well for yourself with the story of how you helped poor ‘Jane.’ But you never gave a thought to woman you got rid of. Cleopatra was not an alter ego to me, not just part of some other woman. Even after she left me I still loved her. I spent years trying to find her again after college. And when I finally did, I discovered that she had no idea who I was. She didn’t remember a thing about me. Because the woman I knew was gone.”", "Graham tried to sit up again. Next door, it sounded like someone was hitting the wall over and over again. “Listen to me. I knew that Jane had romantic partners under her alternate persona. Part of the treatment was reconciling her primary personality with the actions and relationships of her alternate one. If I’d had any idea that the two of you…that is to say, if we’d known—”", "“I know,” the cutter said, nodding. “You did what any responsible physician would do. That’s why I’m not going to kill you.” Graham looked relieved, although she had told him so once already. “Still, you took something away from me. You think you made ‘Jane’ whole, but what you really did was cut her apart. You picked one half of her and you cut the other half off and threw it away. So it’s only fair that I take something from you too. What do you call that in your line of work? Reconciling the schism?”", "“Now wait a minute,” Graham said, raising his voice.", "“Do you think much about dying, Walt? I do. I’m told that most people in my field rarely do. Makes it easier not to internalize your work. But I think about it all the time.” Graham was saying something, but she talked over him. “Sometimes I think about the soul. I didn’t think there even was such a thing until recently. I’ve been cutting people apart my whole life and I’ve never once found anything that looked like a soul anywhere in them. But now I think there really is such a thing. And I think that even people who aren’t real can have souls. Even someone who didn’t exist can be a ghost. That’s what I think. What do you think?”", "Graham didn’t seem to know how to answer, but she hadn’t really been talking to him anyway. From the corner, Cleopatra watched. When the cutter looked at her, she nodded. The cutter turned the television from static to another channel and put the volume all the way up. Human voices through tinny speakers at full blast sounded like shrieking, wordless ghosts. She ducked down, getting something from under the bed. She heard Graham moving, trying to see what she was doing. When she stood up he started to scream; not words, just screaming. The cutter put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to shush.", "“I’m pretty sure I can do this without killing you,” she said. “You know the old joke about being a cutter, right? ‘I’ve never lost a patient yet.’” She pointed to his legs. “Do you want me to cut above the knees, or below?”", "Graham was beyond answering now; he was just screaming. The cutter hoped that his commotion would not throw her off when she made the first incisions. She was noted in her field for her steady hands. But then again, she thought, as she pulled the chord on the chainsaw and felt it come to sputtering, grinding life in her hands, this was not exactly her normal precision tool.", "“Now don’t worry,” she said, pausing with the whirring saw blade just above Graham’s legs. “I’m a doctor.”", "From the corner, Cleopatra smiled.", "*", "“…as it turned out, someone in another room did overhear, and did call the cops, but by then it was way too late to stop her. When we got there…I’ve never seen blood like that. In my line of work you think you’ve seen it all, but that call was the worst I’ve ever been on.”", "“Are you a cop?”", "“Paramedic. I’m the one who saved the guy. She did a pretty good job on him, all things considered, but he’d still have bled out if we hadn’t gotten there.”", "“I remember reading about that when it happened. Two years ago, right?”", "“Me too, but how do you know all that other stuff? I never read anything about why she did it.”", "“She told us. She hurt herself with the saw so we had to take her to the hospital too. I rode the whole way with her and she told us the entire story. She wouldn’t stop telling us, in fact. Messed my buddy up real bad in the head. He had nightmares for a while. He thought about going to see a shrink, but under the circumstances it seemed…”", "“Ill-advised?”", "“Ha, yeah, something like that.”", "“So you told you about Cleopatra and everything?”", "“Yeah.”", "“And was there really, you know, anyone else in the room with them?”", "“Not when we got there. She did keep talking to someone else in the ambulance, someone she said was there but we couldn’t see. Sometimes I think…no, no, it was all bullshit. That lady was nuts. But she talked a good game, you know?", "“So if wanted to know all about ghost stories, well, now you know what’s been haunting me.”", "“And I thought I had rough days at work. What do you do after a thing like that?”", "“Drink. Speaking of which, anyone want another?”", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part Two: Suburb of the Dead	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-two-blind-justice/	8.84	April 19, 2013	297	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "“Do you know what the problem is when it comes to ghosts in this city?”", "“Chains are last season’s look?”", "“All the cool ghosts moved to Portland?”", "“I’ll think our waitress is a ghost if she doesn’t hurry with those drinks.”", "“Scoff if you all will, but I’m making a point here: To have ghosts, first you need the dead. And nobody is ever dead in this city.”", "“You must not read the police blotter.”", "“I never said nobody dies here, what I said is that no one is dead. We get rid of the dead right away, and we all know where they go.”", "“Oh god, I hate that town.”", "“It creeps me out too.”", "“And it should. But it’s even worse than you think: There are probably some things none of you know about the dead. Living here, you wouldn’t have many opportunities to learn. And what’s where my story comes in…”", "*", "It was, as it happened, a dark and stormy night. The dead man could hear the rain, even, as he was, trapped in a cold box under the ground, smothered by the weight of the earth. He was tired, but he felt a potency in his dead limbs and a sudden, unexplainable sense of urgency that allowed him to press the lid open and drag his aching bones up through the dirt and out into the fresh air and the black night and the world of the living again. The dead man left his grave and he knew where he was: the city.", "No, not quite, he corrected himself. He was in the town ten miles south of the city. They buried no bodies in the city itself. A hundred years ago the city passed a law against any new burial sites and they even moved the ones they had, evicting the dead, and this town sprouted like a mushroom on the city’s southern border to hold all those dear departed who no longer had a place in the city itself. It was a town of cemeteries and mortuaries, a town of coffin makers and embalmers, a town of mausoleums and headstones, where the city’s dead migrated for their eternal rest. A town with a thousand occupied graves for every one occupied house. The north became the city of the living; the south became the city of the dead.", "For the most part the two kept to their respective cities and existed in peace. But tonight the city in the south was sending an emissary: the dead man. And his mission was to increase the population of the dead city by one. There was someone in the living city who did not deserve to be there. The dead man sensed his target and knew, instinctively, who it was: his killer. The dead man remembered everything about his killer: his voice, his face, even the way his killer smelled. Death could not rob him of this knowledge. He would find him.", "Tentatively, the dead man tried to walk. His legs were stiff and tired after so many years in the grave. The cold rain felt good on his face. One step at a time the dead man learned to walk again and when he was ready he walked down the hill, away from his headstone, through the little cemetery gate and out onto the highway. Yes, this road he remembered. He could follow it north the whole way. The dark night and the rain would hide the dead man’s face from what few drivers and pedestrians there were.", "As he walked he tried to make sense of things. He remembered dying in a far-off city in another state. His parents must have had his body shipped back and buried here, close to home, close to the city he grew up in. Were his parents alive now? Should he look for them? No, he decided; best that they not see him like this. Best that they never know. The dead man understood (with the same ingrained, reasonless certainty that directed him northward) that his killer was both alive and nearby. That was enough to worry about for now. He would have business with no other living person.", "The dead man had left his own cemetery behind but others dotted the roadside. If he strained his ears he could hear them, the other dead men and dead women down in their graves. Most of them snored away an eternal slumber, occasionally shifting to a more comfortable position in their coffins. Some of the restless ones muttered to themselves, or even had smothered conversations with those buried nearest them. A few talked about coming up, like he had, but no one else seemed ready to do it tonight. He suspected they often talked about such things without actually doing them.", "The dead man did wonder, though, whether he shouldn’t pause for a conversation with a few. Why, right over there Joe DiMaggio was buried. Imagine the talk they two could have. And over there was Wyatt Earp’s grave, and over there was Turk Murphy, and Vince Guaraldi. Doc Barker had been buried out here somewhere too, after he died trying to escape from Alcatraz. Lily Coit, Charles De Young, even Emperor Norton himself, they were all here, and surely they wouldn’t mind trading a few words with the dead man? Surely they were just as lonely as he was…", "But he had no time. Revenge was too precious, and had been too long coming already. So the dead man slogged on, through the rain, past the graves, toward the city lights reflecting off those great shining glass towers like lighthouses for the fates. The dead man had always loved those great buildings. They made him feel young again.", "Something appeared then, a long, snaky, blazing apparition screaming its banshee wail into the night as it flew through the air. The dead man fell, panicked, terrified, scrambling for a hiding place while the impossible thing slowed and then seemed to hover overhead. He clung to a concrete column, praying it did not see him. He tried to hold his breath only to realize it was now not only impossible but unnecessary. There was a snapping sound, and then a ball rang, and then, strangely, the sound of feet tromping overhead, like a column of soldiers marching on thin air. He dared look up and then realized what the glowing specter really was: an elevated train. The column he hugged supported the tracks. Late-night commuters filed onto the platform twenty feet overhead and when the doors slid shut again the entire shrieking assemblage streamed off into the night.", "The dead man felt foolish. Clearly things had changed in the years since he died. Once his embarrassment wore off, he realized the rail-line was a boon for him; it would lead into the city, and if he followed underneath it he would encounter fewer late-night pedestrians than on the main highway. Staying close to the lights on the tracks he followed them, into the heart of civilization, and closer to his prey.", "The pouring rain made rivers and streams of everything. He was glad that it seemed to be relieving him of the grave smell. The city by night was a strange thing: dark and vacant but still teeming with artificial animation, with the glare of electronic lights and the low whine of tires on asphalt. He did not belong here; the people of the dead city kept in their place. It was the unspoken law of the dead. But tonight the rules bent. The dead man scampered beneath overpasses, through alleys, along ditches and across vacant lots. Those few people who saw him took him for another homeless vagrant in his shapeless, foul-smelling clothes. The heavy rain hid face from them. He was tracking using senses he did not realize he had. Maybe it was the spirit of revenge itself that guided him. He came to one block, one street, one house. It was one of the tall Victorian homes that they called the painted ladies. Yes, this was the sort of house his killer would live in. His killer was a rich and powerful man, so powerful that he was never punished even though everyone knew he’d killed the dead man.", "The dead man crept up to a window streaked with rain and squinted into the soft yellow lamplight inside. The living room was filled with boxes, and the floor lined with newspapers that suggested painting project. Of course, the dead man thought, that explains why I’ve come back tonight: My killer has only just come to live here in the city. The dead man smeared the glass with his blackened fingers, rage welling up in the hollow of his chest where his heart once sat. There was movement in another room. He clamored over a fence and into a side yard, creeping up to a bedroom window. Yes, there he was! The dead man felt poisonous joy at the sight of his enemy.", "The killer wore a faded blue bathrobe as he picked through the rooms of his new house, feeling the stacks of boxes with his hands. But how old he was! He’d become gray and bent in the years since the dead man last saw him. And what was this? The killer’s hands moved over everything with such delicate care, and a faithful dog trotted at his side at all times. He’s blind, the dead man realized, blind and all but helpless. But why the lamps? Then the dead man spotted the tire tracks in the wet driveway. Someone else lived here too. A caretaker, or a wife? Whoever it was, they surely wouldn’t leave the old man alone for long. The dead man wanted to break through the glass and seize the old man, to break his bones and twist his limbs (his body was tired and clumsy but strong, terrifyingly strong.)", "But no, he had a better idea: He’d get the old man to open the door for him. Yes, open the door and invite him in, never realizing that he was bringing doom into his home. The dead man went to the front door and knocked as loudly as he could. The door opened, just a crack, and a voice (his killer’s voice! Old and frail, but the same voice that the dead man knew so well!) said:", "“Who’s there?”", "For a moment the dead man wasn’t sure he was capable of speech, but when he opened his mouth the words came, though they sounded garbled and strange. “Sir,” the dead man said in his voice like brittle leaves, “I’m a poor man with nothing in the world, and the rain has wet me to the bone. If you don’t mind, I’d like permission to rest a while here on your porch, and hopefully dry out a bit.”", "The slim yellow line that indicated the door opening wavered for a second, as if the house itself were pondering. Then the door opened and the old man (the killer) beckoned him in. “Can’t have you freezing out there. Come in and dry yourself off properly.”", "The house was warm. The dead man felt the change in temperature vaguely, as if it were happening to someone else and he was only observing it. “You must excuse me,” said the killer. “I have not moved in yet.”", "“The first night in a new house is always the loneliest,” said the dead man, following his killer deeper inside. The old man walked with two canes, one to hold himself up and the other to find his way. Even the dead man walked faster than his killer did.", "“That’s very true,” his killer said. “But when you get to be my age, any night can be a lonely one. I find I’m loneliest of all when someone is with me.”", "“It’s the same with me,” the dead man said. He dripped rainwater on the hardwood floor, water black and green with the residue of his body. The rain, he knew, would cover the smell of his moldered flesh even to the blind man’s sensitive nose, but not for very long. That was all right. He would not need long. The old man’s dog crouched near the door, tail between its legs. It looked at the dead man with head cocked to one side. The dead man put a finger to his lips as a signal: Shhhhh. The dog ran away.", "The killed grunted. He’d reached a chair and was doing his best to sit in it. He told the dead man his name. “And who are you?” his killer said.", "The dead man told him.", "The killer was quiet for a moment. Then he said: “I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you right. What’s your name?”", "The dead man said it again.", "The killer dropped his cane. Somewhere, the dog was crying.", "The old man began to shake. When he opened his mouth no words came out. The dead man stood over his killer’s chair, dripping rain. It was a long time before the old man spoke. When he did the only words he said were: “I’m sorry.”", "“You murdered me,” the dead man said.", "“No!” said the killer, and the dead man’s anger boiled over. He screamed:", "“Don’t lie! You murdered me, you bastard!”", "“You don’t understand,” said the killer. He was crying, feeble old man’s tears.", "“No, I don’t,” the dead man said. “Because I’ve never killed anyone. But I’ll understand soon.”", "“But I had to do it,” said the killer. “Don’t you see? It had to be done.”", "The dead man touched his killer’s cheek, gently. “Answer a question,” said the dead man, “and I may let you live.”", "The killer’s old, blind eyes looked up at him.", "“How many?” said the dead man.", "“How many what?”", "The dead man wrapped his fingers around his killer’s throat. “How many people did you kill?” Outside, the rain was loud, like a thousand wet, clammy hands beating on the walls and windows. “Do you even know how many there were? Tell me that our lives meant at least that much to you, and I may let you go.”", "The killer blinked. He furrowed his brow. He stammered: “I…I…”", "And he started to sob.", "Slowly, very slowly, the dead man reached for the lamp. He turned out the light. In the dark, there was a sound like the last bit of water swirling around the drain. In another room, the dog began to howl, and then he began to cry.", "And then everything went quiet.", "", "They read about it, as the saying goes, in tomorrow’s paper:", "A blind retiree was murdered in his home late Saturday night, stunning this quiet residential neighborhood, and police say his assailant is still at large.", "“His wife had gone out to the store. They just moved in and there was no food in the house,” a police spokesperson told reporters. “She came back to find the door open and her husband dead.”", "Police identified the victim as Martin Coughlin, 79, a former assistant district attorney from Reno. Coughlin had been both strangled and bludgeoned. Police said there were no signs of a break-in and it appears that Coughlin opened the door for his attacker. Coughlin was blind due to complications from surgery to remove a brain tumor two years ago.", "During his career as a Washoe County prosecutor Coughlin tried over 700 homicides. He achieved national notoriety after petitioning for the death penalty in the case of Dante Riggs. Riggs was accused of abducting and murdering a seven year old girl while on a gambling trip. He was executed in 1995, but the conviction was overturned posthumously when new evidence was discovered. The public outcry against Coughlin’s handling of the prosecution prompted his retirement.", "“We came here for a fresh start,” said Martha Coughlin (70), who made a brief statement to the press. “It’s hard to know what to think. I guess I’d really hoped that, in this place, maybe, after all these years, we could finally be free of the ghosts of the past.", "“But now it looks like the ghosts are all I have left.”", "**", "“…and that’s why we’re the only city in the world that banishes our dead.”", "“Wait, why? I don’t understand what that has to do with the story?”", "“When the dead stay too close to the living they always want to come back up and cause trouble. If you put a little distance between the living and the dead, it means that only really important business can get them back up again.”", "“Well I don’t think I understood it. He wasn’t really even a ghost, was he?”", "“And if you’re saying this story was true, then how do you know about it? Who told you?”", "“Who do you think? I work in one of those cemeteries. The dead get chatty sometimes. They don’t have very many occasions to talk, you know, so when one comes along they’re hard to shut up. They’ll tell you almost anything.”", "“That’s bullshit.”", "“I don’t expect you to believe me. But you’ll all understand, someday. None of us can stay in the living city forever. Sooner or later we’ll all take that trip south. And then you’ll see.", "“Anyway, that’s my story. Does anyone have another?”", "", "", "", "", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tales of the City, Part One: Neighborhood Watch	https://www.creepypasta.com/tales-of-the-city-part-one-neighborhood-watch/	8.3	April 18, 2013	297	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "“It’s a simple question: Do you believe in ghost?”", "“I—”", "“Hold on; I’m not in the mood for ghost stories tonight.”", "“Me neither.”", "“I didn’t ask for stories, I just asked—hold on, where’s that waitress? Has anyone seen the waitress? Like I said, I didn’t ask for stories, I just asked if our new friend here believes. So do you?”", "“I don’t know about ghosts exactly. But I believe there are strange things in this city.”", "“That’s hardly news.”", "“Yeah, I’m looking at a strange thing in the city right now.”", "“I don’t mean strange like that. What I mean is…it’s hard to explain.”", "“Well I’ll say one thing—waitress!—I’ll say one thing right now, I do believe. So I’ll make you a deal: This next pitcher is on me provided you’re willing to tell us what you know about it.”", "“Don’t force him to talk if he doesn’t want to.”", "“No, I’ll talk. It’s not usually a story I like to tell, but now that you’ve brought it up I won’t be able to get it off my mind. You ask me what I believe in? I believe in the city. I’ve always believed in the city. But it wasn’t until recently that I learned what that really means.", "“It all started with my morning commute…”", "*", "The man had lived in the city all his life, and yet he knew nothing about the Neighborhood, and that frightened him.", "He was a worker. In the morning he took a bus to his first job and in the afternoon he took another bus to his other job and then he took a third bus home. He knew every neighborhood those busses passed through: the Marina, the Mission, North Beach, Noe Valley, the Tenderloin, SOMA. They each had a personality of their own. Old neighborhoods sometimes died, but new neighborhoods were born all the time. The worker knew them all.", "Except for one. His morning bus took a shortcut down a narrow, shady avenue with a decorative fountain (empty of water except on a few days of the year) every day. Here was a neighborhood of only a few blocks filled with large, furtive-looking houses and drooping willow trees and silence. Like all of the city’s neighborhoods it had a name, but people rarely spoke it. In the worker’s mind it was just the Neighborhood. He would give it no name more definite than that. He was afraid to.", "He wondered why the bus passed through these few blocks; no one who lived around here would ever need to take a bus. Nobody ever got on at the stops in the Neighborhood, and no one ever got off. And he noticed that people never talked about the Neighborhood, even when he asked them about it. It was as if they knew not to. Who lives here, he wondered? Rich people, obviously; workers like him couldn’t afford such houses. They were not mansions (there were few real mansions in this part of the world and none in the city), but they were still big, and expensive. But most rich people in the city lived in penthouses or sometimes in the painted Victorians on the avenues. Who lived in these secretive homes hidden on these tiny streets in this hilly hollow?", "This question became even more pressing the day he noticed there were no people there. He’d never once seen anyone on the streets of the Neighborhood, or anyone standing in a doorway, or anyone moving behind a window of any of the houses. It seemed to the worker that whoever lived in the Neighborhood did not deign to leave their homes, or maybe it was just that (and he could not shake this thought no matter how irrational it seemed) they simply never left their homes during the day. Since he took a different bus home, the worker never passed through the Neighborhood at night. He became glad of that. It seemed whoever lived here didn’t want to be seen by outsiders.", "One day a woman at the worker’s night job took a vacation. His boss asked the worker if he wanted to fill in for her during the morning. Tips were supposed to be better in the morning, so the worker agreed to switch his day and night shifts at both jobs. This meant, of course, that his bus route would be reversed, but that did not occur to him until it was too late. That first day he took his night bus in the morning (the streets looked so different with the sun up, so alive), worked his night job during the day, took his afternoon bus the opposite direction (he could not shake the feeling he was traveling backwards in time, somehow), and, finally, caught his morning bus at night. The dark streets of the Neighborhood, with all the long, clinging willow vines fluttering in the evening breeze, lurked ahead of him, and the worker realized that he had been dreading this all day.", "He chided himself; there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just a street. But look at the faces of the other people on the bus: Yes, they were all afraid, though none of them would admit it. One woman, he saw, was even holding her breath. They crossed Sloat Boulevard and the first of the quiet houses. The worker avoided looking out the windows. He realized his heart was pounding and he had to force himself to breathe. The steady hum of the bus tires comforted him a little; it took less than a minute to cut through the Neighborhood. They’d be safe soon.", "He found himself turning toward the window. He did not want to, but it was like an itch; the harder he tried not to scratch, the worse it got. He could not help but turn. Was it his imagination, or was the woman sitting across the aisle trying to warn him with sideways glances and half-hidden gestures not to look? He could not be sure. Heart pounding, he turned all the way and he looked into the darkness. He saw…", "Nothing. Nothing except the same streets and the same houses as always, the same leaning trees and the same showy fountain. There was nothing strange or sinister about it after all, and he laughed at himself. How childish his fears had been. It was just a neighborhood for rich snobs who liked their privacy and were probably annoyed by the loud, smelly city bus that drove down their private little avenue a hundred times a day both ways.", "In fact, now that he was not so afraid, he realized that it was really a pleasant looking little neighborhood. It was inviting. Only half aware of what he was doing, the worker rang the bell. Several people in nearby seats jumped; no one ever, ever rang the bell for a stop in the Neighborhood. But the worker just had. The driver glanced at him and then looked away. The woman across the aisle was now, very clearly, looking at the worker, and he saw her shake her head a fraction of a degree, but he ignored her. His feet seemed to move of their own accord, one in front of the other, down the short aisle and into the stairwell where the automatic door hissed open, and then he was outside the protective shell of the vehicle and setting foot, for the first time in his life, on the streets of the Neighborhood.", "The woman who’d tried to warn him stared down from a window, her face bleached and her eyes wide, but then the snap of the automatic door and the hum of the tires whisked her away, and the worker was alone. It was a warm night. There was no moon. A small breeze was, as always, coming from the direction of the ocean. The stirring of the willows was the only noise. The worker looked around; something was strange. The streets were deserted, as usual, but there was something about the houses. He realized there were no lights on in any of them. Every window was dark. The breeze turned cold and the worker rubbed his bare arms. He now felt foolish for getting off the bus and making himself late. He did not understand why he’d done it. And the old fear was creeping up in him again now as all those dark windows, like the empty eye sockets in a pile of skulls, stared at him.", "He did not want to wait here for the next bus, so he started to walk. The top of the hill would be better, he reasoned. Safer. He tried to keep his eyes on his feet, but again he found he couldn’t help glancing from side to side. He prayed for a sign of life anywhere, something to reassure him, but it was all darkness and silence. Nothing here looks lived-in, he thought, realizing that had been the disquieting quality of the Neighborhood all along. It was less like a real neighborhood as much like a museum display of how a neighborhood might look. No one who saw these streets for even a second would mistake them for the habitat of any living thing. This he had always known, deep down, even if he only just now knew how to articulate it.", "He walked faster. It seemed to the worker that the hill was steeper than usual (all rich neighborhoods in the city were built on hills). Was the grade becoming more severe so as to slow him down? Absurd, he thought. Then the wind changed direction, blowing in his face hard enough to make him take a half step backward, like a hand trying to hold him in one place. The houses crouched on their lots, waiting for him. The windows were dark, the doors were closed, the—", "He stopped. One door was open, on the little cream-colored house with the tile roof. It was wide open, in fact, revealing a dark hallway beyond. The worker looked around; still no one in sight. Why should this door be open in the middle of the night, he wondered? It did not look like anyone was home. A house like this should be locked at night; perhaps there’d been a robbery? Perhaps someone was hurt? Perhaps…", "He was walking toward the door. He did not want to and he had not thought about doing it, just as he hadn’t really thought about getting off the bus, but still, he was walking toward the door. The toe of his work boots tapped the stone porch steps on his way up. Why am I doing this, he thought? But it was already too late; the door was open and he was inside. The house closed up around him.", "The worker stood in the foyer. Though dark, there seemed to be nothing strange about the house. It was clean and furnished. There was a faint, underlying scent of mustiness but there was also a perceptible effort to cover it up. Everything was neatly in its place. Yes, it looked normal enough, he thought.", "But it didn’t look lived-in…", "A flicker of movement caught the worker’s eye. He saw that the front door had closed. Not all the way, just halfway, gliding on hinges so quiet it would seem they scarcely moved at all. It was enough to jolt the worker out of his reverie; I should not be here, he thought, and he went for the door, but something moved again. Not the door but something just outside it. There was a flicker and a shudder and the worker swore he saw something pale flop against the door frame. Surely that was not an arm? Surely flesh could not be such a color? Surely it was the dark and the worker’s imagination that made it appear that a barely glimpsed, quasi-human figure with flesh like an earthworm crouched on the porch, shuddering and gibbering?", "But then it was gone.", "The worker backed away. He wanted to get out, but not that way. He noticed, now, that there was light in this house after all, the bare illumination of a candle flame in a nearby doorway. Instinctively he went toward it, wanting to huddle around the light for protection against whatever was in the dark. He pushed on the half-closed door and there was indeed a single candle flickering on a table. Four figures sat around it, four people in claw-footed chairs, four men and women whose heads turned in unison toward the worker and smiled as their yellowing eyes met his. But the worker was not looking at the people around the table. No, he was looking at what was on the table, next to the candle. He was, he realized, trying to scream. No sound came out.", "“We have a guest,” said one of the men. His voice was neither high nor low, neither young nor old; it was a blank voice. “We were not expecting you. I’m afraid you’ve already missed dinner.”", "The worker could not move. He tried to run, but his legs were frozen. He continued to stare at the table. The man who had spoken balled up a red napkin and tossed it onto the tablecloth. “At least we can offer you the hospitality of our company. Why don’t you sit and tell us a little about yourself. What’s your name?” The man still smiled. His face was the color of chalk. The worker realized they expected him to speak but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.", "“What’s the matter with you? Can’t you talk? Or are you one of those…unfortunates?” The man’s bloodless lips sneered.", "“Look at his clothes,” said one of the women “He looks like some common rabble off the streets. Probably came off of that bus.”", "“Do you think so?” The man peered at him. The two silent figures nodded in agreement with the woman. “Well, then since we’ve already eaten and since he cannot speak and since he is not the right sort of person, I suppose we have no choice but to throw him out.”", "The worker felt a hand on his shoulder. No, he realized, not a hand, just something cold and clammy that might be called a hand if you knew no better word for it. He felt something at his back, a shape that shuddered and shook. The man with the pale face smiled at whatever was behind the worker. “Just in time. Please show this person to the door.”", "The clammy hand squeezed the worker’s shoulder. He did not want to turn around. Awful as what he was seeing was, he was sure that whatever was behind him would be worse. But whatever irresistible force first compelled him to get off the bus and then compelled him to enter this house (the same force, he was now certain, that lured any number of people into these homes each year, never to be seen again), was now telling him to turn around and look at his escort. So he did.", "And then, mercifully, came unconsciousness.", "", "In a way, nothing changed for the worker after that. He still got up at the same time each day, still went to his same jobs, still took the same busses and, yes, still passed through the Neighborhood each morning. He thought he would be afraid to, but he soon realized that the Neighborhood was not the same creature during the day as it was during the night. There was really nothing to fear in the Neighborhood by day.", "Yes, in one sense nothing changed, but in a more important sense things were never quite the same again. The worker always thought he knew the city the way like he would have known a brother if he’d ever had one. But now the city seemed dark and alien, and he began to suspect he did not know it at all. Worse, he began to think he did not even want to.", "It was not the people at the table who haunted his dreams, not their bloodless faces, or their long fangs behind sneering gray lips. Nor was it the shapeless, gibbering thing they called a servant. No, what haunted the worker was the memory of that bloodstained napkin on the table, and the remains of the nightly meal spread out on the red-dappled tablecloth. “We’ve already eaten,” the pale man had said. Whenever the worker closed his eyes he glimpsed what lay on that table, and he remembered what was left of its face. And the worker knew that if he had come to that house an hour or perhaps even fifteen minutes earlier they would never have simply thrown him out, never have just laughed at him and let him go.", "And now he understood why the Neighborhood was empty by daylight, and why it never looked lived-in. Because certainly the things that inhabited those houses could not be called alive, and they could not abide the light of the sun. But the city belonged to them, and they were its true inhabitants in a way that the worker never could be. In all likelihood, they had been here since it was founded. And would stay here forever.", "**", "“…and that’s how it happened. I don’t expect any of you to believe me, but that’s all right. I’d almost rather not be believed.”", "“Where is this neighborhood? What route is that?”", "“Let’s not pester our new friend with a lot of questions.”", "“You were the one who was interrogating him in the first place. I just want to know—”", "“Well I don’t want to know what route it was. Even if his story wasn’t true…can we just talk about something else?”", "“Yes, we can and we should. My story’s done and there’s nothing else to say.”", "“Now wait a minute, friend. I appreciate you breaking the ice for me, as it were, with that story, because I have a story of my own.”", "“Oh, here he goes.”", "“I’d say it’s even stranger than yours, and since you were honest with me I think it’s only fair that I be honest back.”", "“If he’s going to do this we need more beer.”", "“I needed more anyway. Does anyone really want to hear this?”", "“I do.”", "“I do too. I believed every word of that first story and in fact I have one a lot like it. And if anyone else has one too, I want to hear it.", "“And I’ll buy the next round.”", "", "", "", "", "", "", "", "Credit To – Tam Lin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Mess	https://www.creepypasta.com/mess/	7.85	April 17, 2013	298	[ "Apocalyptic and Dystopian", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Zombies and the Undead" ]	[ "Apocalyptic and Dystopian", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Zombies and the Undead" ]	[ "I awoke with a start as I heard a loud bang out in the street. I HATED noise before 8:30 AM. I have OCD, so the tiniest things can set me off.", "Annoyed, I pulled on my bathrobe and walked out the front door to see what the commotion was. I stopped to fix a flower that was drooping to the wrong side. Immediately, I was assaulted with the world’s imperfections. I gave a silent yell as I surveyed my block; it looked like a disaster zone. A house down the street was on fire, and people were running out of it, screaming. Overturned trash cans and makeshift sand bag barricades lined the sidewalk. I gave a small “humph” and turned on my heel back into my house, locking all 4 of the bolts on my way in. I checked to make sure all my windows were boarded properly; everything seemed ok.", "I moved over to the living room, grabbing the orange juice container and pouring myself a glass before I sat down on the sofa. I flipped on the television, and the hum of the backup generator kicked up as power usage increased. For the 4th straight day, the state’s emergency broadcast system was airing. I sighed, and returned to the kitchen to make myself a piece of toast. I was tired of the broadcast. I was hoping they’d be back on schedule with the morning news soon.", "“The governor has issued a state of emergency. This broadcast has been tailored to your area.” A short pause. “Residents of San Diego and Imperial Counties are urged to make their way to the Red Cross centers in San Diego and El Centro. If you are unable to leave your home, lock and barricade your doors and windows. Arm yourselves with any weapons you can. Firearms are most effective, especially when aimed at the head. Remember to stay hydrated if infected. The CDC has so far been unsuccessful at finding a cure, but it is noted that staying hydrated keeps the immune system functioning properly. If an infected has already passed and returned in your household, do not hesitate to euthanize them. We repeat, DO NOT HESITATE. Remember, the Red Cross has centers in San Diego and El Centro. The military has camps throughout the state. Please stay safe.”", "I recognized those closing words, and switched off the TV to conserve power. Another loud bang could be heard outside. I jolted, alarmed at the noise. I swore under my breath, I straightened the sofa pillows as I stood up, making my way back to the front door. Another bang. Looking through the peep-hole, I saw a disgusting figure knocking its head into my front door. It was one of the zombies, with rotting gray skin and yellow eyes. There was a festering wound on its neck; its dirty, blood-stained clothing accentuated its repulsiveness. Horrified, I stepped back. I had only seen the zombies on the television, never in real life. I wasn’t sure what to do.", "Suddenly, a gunshot roared across the street, ripping into the zombie’s skull. It fell immediately, its brain and blood all over my porch. I nearly fainted. So much mess. I heard a loud whoop, and then the rippling sound of a motorcycle engine. I realized that I wasn’t safe in my home anymore. But with OCD, I found safety in what was familiar. The crowded, dirty city was not familiar. I knew it was foolish, and later I regretted it, but I chose to stay home.", "I could hear the zombies becoming restless outside later in the evening, wailing late into the night. A few times I heard screams as the living tried to escape. One sounded like Mrs. Avery from two houses down. Another like Mr. King from around the corner. I vowed to try to escape while I still could the next day. With the thudding of zombies against my door, I fell into a fitful sleep.", "The next morning, after gathering everything that would fit in my car and my Smith & Wesson, I backed out of my driveway for the last time. The air conditioning in the car cycled in the putrid stench of decay and vomit. The smell was overwhelming. I glanced around, trying to see if there was anyone nearby. Only zombies. They rushed over to my car, banging their bloody fists against my beautiful Lexus. One smeared entrails all over the window. I gave a small yelp, and floored the gas pedal to get away.", "Minutes later, I was driving down the freeway. Overturned cars littered the road, with a few struggling bodies trapped in the wreckage. I hoped that those struggling were the undead. I passed a hospital with a large, crude banner reading “No help here, Try Mercy,” written in black paint. I shuddered at the thought of hospital patients, trapped in their beds, as the undead came limping down the hallway. I was amazed that everything had gone to ruin so quickly. Pent up inside of my perfect house, I had no idea what the rest of humanity was facing out in the world.", "All of a sudden a zombie came trundling out in front of my car. Noticing it, I instinctually swerved to avoid it, which proved to be a mistake. I slammed into the center divide at about 65 miles per hour, flipping a few times before coming to a stop upside-down. My arm was twisted in a less than glorifying position, and I had multiple gashes and cuts from broken glass. Worst of all was the fact that I couldn’t move my legs. I didn’t know what was wrong. There was blood all over the place, gushing like a fountain. So much crimson, disgusting blood. I began to hyperventilate, and soon I was hysterical.", "“Help!” I screamed. “Oh, God, someone help me! Please!”", "Bad idea.", "The zombies, hearing my loud cries, began to migrate over to my car. Where I couldn’t move my legs. Where I was defensless.", "I screamed more. I wildly attempted to get myself free, but I simply couldn’t. Eventually, as the first zombies began to reach in through the window, I accepted my fate.", "Delirious with blood-loss, I found myself with a childish grin. I felt dizzy as I said my last words.", "“Just don’t make a mess.”", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Nyx	https://www.creepypasta.com/nyx/	8.38	April 16, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I’ve always been a night person.", "Even as a small child, I can still remember my stepmother affectionately referring to me as ‘her little night owl’ when she’d wake up to use the bathroom and find light pouring out from beneath my doorframe. This natural tendency towards the nocturnal wasn’t particularly enjoyable during the school year, especially as I entered high school and was expected to reach my bus stop by 6AM sharp. For somebody who got their second wind at around 11PM, it was incredibly hard to convince my brain to wind down and go to sleep rather than stay up all night going on my favorite internet forums, working on my old-school Geocities-hosted blog, or chatting the night away with internet friends I’d made on the other side of the globe. Many nights, I’d end up netting only one or two hours of sleep – if at all. High school was little more than a blur of drowsy days and nerdy nights, yet somehow I still managed to successfully graduate on time.", "After I moved on to college, my devotion to the night became easier. Online courses had just become commonplace, so I managed to take almost my entire courseload via the web. I got a job stocking a nearby grocery store overnight, and daylight became less and less of a familiar sight for me.", "When you live your entire life in the dark, it ceases to frighten you. My friends would ask me how I could manage to walk my dog at 4am without any fear, or if I didn’t get a little spooked by how quiet my dorms and apartment buildings always were as I went about my daily business. For me, the answer was always the same: I wasn’t scared at all. This might sound odd, but the best allegory that I can think of is that warm, cozy, yet closed off feeling one gets during a snowstorm. You’re inside, safe and warm, though admittedly cut off from the world. Living almost entirely at night is similar; I find it so familiar and easy, but I’m still aware that my city is almost entirely asleep when I’m awake. I’m somewhat isolated, yes, but it’s a comfortable solitude, not a painful loneliness.", "I’m explaining this to you so that you understand just how serious what I’m about to tell you is. I’m not the kind of person who hears bumps in the night or sees monsters in shadows. The nighttime is my natural habitat, and I have always felt secure. So when I tell you that tonight, the darkness has managed to make me experience fear like no other, you should realize how unnatural that is.", "~~~", "It started like any normal day – er, night – for me. I woke up around 10PM and got my coffee perking. Seemingly fitting with my preference for night over day, I also favor incredibly dark coffee. The blend I made today was called Eclipse; both appropriate for its color as well as seeming like a strange portent to what would come later.", "As I was frying up some bacon and eggs to go with my coffee, a loud crash from my living room rang through my apartment. It was followed by a strange crunching sound, and then a long, drawn-out creak. I almost dropped the pepper mill that I’d been holding, before coming to my senses and peeking around the corner into the living room.", "It was, of course, completely empty. I live alone (well, except for my dog, who was currently perched on his dog bed in the kitchen and cocking his head back and forth at the noise) and keep my doors and windows locked at all times, and furthermore my apartment is what is called “shotgun” style – the front door and back door directly face each other, with the kitchen as the link between them. If anyone had come inside, they would have had to march right past my breakfast preparations. I can be spacey sometimes, sure, but even I would have noticed that!", "As I peered around the room, attempting to figure out what could have fallen and broken and caused the mysterious noise, I felt the strangest sensation. It was as if someone had just brushed past me. I’m sure that sounds incredibly by-rote ghost story league, but it wasn’t the cold and clammy touch that most people claim to feel. This was… pleasantly warm, and the touch felt as if someone was gently rubbing the most luxurious, plush velvet across my cheek. It was a strange conflict in emotions; the logical side of my brain was terrified by the combination of inexplicable noises and now a seemingly ghostly presence, yet something about the touch felt so wonderful and safe – it was somehow nostalgic, actually. Like all the good times I’d had staying up way too late and having fun during high school, the pleasure of a nighttime stroll with only my dog and my thoughts as company, the perversely satisfied feeling of seeing my neighbors having to scrape nighttime frost off their cars in the morning while I was winding down my day and only had to worry about which book to curl up with in bed – somehow, this one touch embodied all those emotions at once. I was struck momentarily dumb as my brain tried to work out exactly how to feel, but before I’d fully decided one way or the other, I found myself turning around.", "The room behind me – where the presence had seemingly been heading – seemed empty upon first glance, but something was definitely off. It took me a moment of staring to realize it, but when I did, a sharp spike of terror pierced all my previously confused feelings.", "My window was open, and the curtains were fluttering gently in the night breeze. This would be unusual in and of itself, but that wasn’t the part that had shocked me.", "Not only were my normally robin’s egg blue curtains suddenly some new shade that seemed somehow darker than black, but when I looked past them out the window – the moon was gone.", "The sky was a complete and impenetrable inky black. No moonlight, streetlights, or even the light from within my apartment seemed to be reaching the world outside. The hazy moon that had been present when I’d awoken had either somehow disappeared or been completely eclipsed; the security light that tends to go off if you even so much as look in the direction of the apartment building opposite mine wasn’t activating even when I rushed to the window and tried to squint through the darkness. It was so completely black that I couldn’t even make out anything beyond my window.", "For the first time in my life, I experienced true terror. What was going on? How could this possibly be explained? Was the world ending? Was this some strange new war weapon, a black fog of chemicals that dulled the senses? I was coming up with mountains of strange scenarios, each just as improbable as the next, yet none managed to be stranger than what I was actually seeing.", "That’s when I saw it. The slightest flutter of movement – a ripple in the obsidian blackness outside. If I could see, it would have been right next to the gardens that surround the mailboxes. Those gardens are a bit of a labor of love for the apartment complex’s groundskeeper; not a day goes by that he isn’t out there doing some mulching, pruning, or planting. When he met me and learned about my nocturnal lifestyle, he took it upon himself to add some night-blooming jasmine to the gardens so that I would have something lovely to see when checking my mail in the middle of the night. Actually, now that I was thinking about it, the shimmer of movement was right around the jasmine!", "Before I could even understand why, I was out my front door and gliding down the stairs to the ground floor. I felt consumed by a desire – no, a need – to understand what was going on, and I suspected that the disturbance in the force – so to speak – was my quickest avenue to getting answers.", "Just as I approached the area where the jasmine should be, I suddenly realized just how foolhardy I’d been, rushing out into the black. I considered turning back, but then decided that as the entity had been in my apartment already, I probably was just as safe out here as I was inside. I heard a faint woof, and looked back to see my dog trotting up to me, tail wagging. That was a comfort, I decided. He was usually quite vigilant; if he was acting normal and unfazed, perhaps there truly wasn’t any danger.", "I crouched down, feeling around, trying to find the jasmine. I can’t explain why, but for some reason I just knew that I needed one of the blossoms. After a few failed attempts (and some thorn pricks from a nearby rose bush), my hand came upon one of the in-bloom flowers. I snapped it off its stem and held it up to my face, inhaling the scent.", "That’s when it happened.", "Starting from the bloom that I was holding in my hand, what I can only describe as a dark light began to glow. Imagine a paper lantern, but with all the paper completely black; or perhaps a black light in an already pitch dark room. The light – for lack of a better term, I’ll just call it a light – engulfed the area, and I could faintly see the outlines and shapes of my surroundings. Gardens, mailboxes, unlit streetlamps –", "– and the form of a woman, only a few feet in front of me.", "I’d love to be able to describe her in detail to you, you know, “she was incredibly beautiful and had lips like luscious fruit and eyes that glowed like precious gems” or whatever, but… I couldn’t see any features. It was more as if she was simply darkness taking the form of a woman; I could see the faint outline of an evening gown, heels, and long hair in some sort of updo, but that was was it. There seemed to be a slight, hazy, purple-black mist radiating off of her as well – leaving absolutely no question that whatever this woman was, she could not possibly be human.", "I didn’t know what to do. I stood, frozen, gaping at this mysterious entity, desperately trying to think of how to react. My stupor came to a quick end as my dog decided to take action before I did – he moved in an instant and bounded over to the smokey shape before I could hold him back. All the horror movies and stories that I’d absorbed over my lifetime flashed through my mind, and I reached out to try and protect my faithful companion from the doom that he had almost certainly earned. While the woman-thing wasn’t displaying any open aggression at the moment, this couldn’t end well.", "Then the unthinkable – or rather, the completely unpredictable – happened. The darkness reached out an elegant hand and simply placed it on my dog’s head, just as I would to acknowledge him when he was sitting quietly by as we watched television or something. The form and canine both stayed still for a moment, as if somehow communing, and then my dog gave a happy yip and took off into the darkness. I was stunned but relieved, and this strange event managed to break me out of my shock enough to speak – even if it was nothing more than a strangled “eh?” sound.", "The shadow laughed, a deep, throaty chuckle that gave me the same odd feeling of being caressed by velvet as the presence in my apartment. It dawned on me that this woman-shade, then, must have been the one who had passed by me earlier. Was this all just a ruse to get me out here? The noises in my empty apartment, the brief touch, the sheer strangeness outside – it suddenly all seemed very calculated. Rather than being put at ease by the laugh and the seemingly friendly treatment of my dog, I felt myself become even more anxious. What was going on? What was this thing, and what did she – it? – want from me?", "I gathered up all my courage and decided to ask, as I was getting the distinct impression that this entity was waiting on me for some reason. If I didn’t say something soon, my heart might give out before we stopped staring at each other. But for all my resolve, I could only manage to stutter out one single word:", "“…What…”", "The darkness moved like liquid mercury, slipping immediately to my side. Those elegant shadow-hands once again reached out, this time to gently cup my face. When the answer came, I heard it both out loud and deep within my brain, as if the shade was speaking to all of my senses at once. It was an incredibly unsettling feeling, but not more so than the answer I received.", "“You don’t understand yet? Small one, we have lived as close as lovers for your entire life. Your companion knew me from the moment I arrived, and greeted me as such. Do you truly not recognize me?”", "At that moment, I once again felt that rush of nighttime nostalgia – the constant awareness and acceptance of my solitude, the joy of utter freedom borne of having the night to myself, the warmth and comfort of normal nightly habits, the rush of fondness I felt as I talked to far-flung friends by the glow of a monitor, the quiet companionship as I walked under the stars with my dog… it was just like before. This time, I understood what the velvety touch was trying to convey. I looked at the mist-woman and saw the relationship that I’d been cultivating my entire life; because what did I love more than the night itself?", "“Ah. You see now,” the voice echoed. “You are correct. I am night itself; I am the one who you have dedicated your entire life to serving. I have come, dear one, to collect what is mine by right.”", "Wait a minute, I found myself thinking at the voice. I don’t understand what you mean by that. Collect what is yours? Serve you? You’re making it sound like I’m some sort of sacrifice in an ancient cult to Nyx or something – I cut myself off and tried to think through the increasingly foggy, sleepy feeling that was encroaching upon my brain. Whether it was from her touch or from that increasingly heavy, sweet smell in the air, I was starting to feel a bit drugged. Everything’s trying to make me feel at ease and safe, but I can’t shake this deep, cold fear at the bottom of my stomach. Something isn’t right, but all I can sense is the thick floral scent and I’m starting to feel that pleasantly drowsy sensation you get from too many antihistamines and when did I get on my bed? But I’m in my pajamas and my dog is curled up next to me and the heater is on and it’s so warm and cozy and I’m just so sleepy and maybe just a nice nap in these dark velvet blankets will help me remember… because I’m trying to remember something… and that jasmine incense sure is nice and everything is so", "comfortable", "easy", "sleepy", "as I snuggled into the covers, I felt something fall from my outstretched hand.", "~~~", "And suddenly, here I am. I’m wide awake and aware that I’m outside, almost completely enveloped in shadow. The jasmine-lantern is on the ground at my feet, and it seems that dropping it has broken the spell. I scramble backwards, kicking pointlessly at the wisps of black smoke that are still curling around my legs.", "“Tch, such a rebellious child,” I hear Nyx’s voice, but this time it’s not in my head, she’s speaking out loud. “I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting you to resist; after all, you worship me with every facet of your life. It’s only natural that you return to me. Why do you fight?”", "I sense true puzzlement in her question, not malice.I shake my head.", "“I… it’s true that I’ve enjoyed living with you, but that’s just it: I’ve enjoyed living. I don’t understand, why are you trying to take me? What prompted this? I… I don’t want to die!” I shout the last part, trembling as I realize just how truthful my plea just now was. Oh, God, please let me survive this.", "Nyx examines my face and, somehow, I get the feeling that she is frowning at me.", "“But it’s impossible, dear one. You belong to me. I’ve left too much of a mark on you; can you even remember the last time that you saw daylight?”", "I shake my head. It’s true; it’s probably been years since I’ve seen the sunshine and I never found it particularly troubling. That’s what Vitamin D supplements are for, right?", "“It has been precisely three years that you’ve lived in complete darkness. Three years that you’ve dedicated yourself completely to me, forsaking Hemera in every way. You’ve reveled in my presence these past three years; I have felt your adoration calling to me. You’ve even presented me with flowers from my own domain as an offering,” she stated as she paused to pluck one of the jasmine blossoms. I watched her raise the flower up to her face and smiled as she inhaled its heady, thick floral scent. After a moment, she lowered the petals and continued:", "“Tonight is the night that I am allowed to officially claim you as my child and take you home. You’re saying that you did not intentionally follow this rite? I’m sorry to say, but it cannot be reversed now. As I’ve said, you are mine, and I have come to collect what belongs to me.”", "I’m so focused on her words, that I don’t even realize at first that Nyx has, once again, begun to envelop me in her shadows. I let out a small gasp and turn to run, only to have my arm gripped by a wreath of black mist.", "“You still do not understand, child. It’s not a matter of some malevolent desire on my part; I simply cannot allow you to remain on this plane for fear of what will become of you. You are mine, and this means that you will cease to exist if you allow Hemera’s Day to catch you. If you want to be saved, you must allow me to take you. There is no alternative.”", "I am chilled to the bone by her words. If she’s saying what I think she’s saying… I am in an impossible situation. It’s either allow her to “collect” me – and seemingly let my individual consciousness slip away, if what happened before was any indication – or cease to exist entirely once dawn’s light hits.", "“In my embrace, it’s true that you will cease to be an individual entity. You will become the night itself. Is this truly so bad? Is it really worse than the decay that will meet you when Hemera awakens?”", "It’s hard to accept. Part of what I loved about being alone at night was the sheer freedom I often felt; total self-reliance and the lack of normal societal demands left me feeling more alive than I can properly explain. And now my choices are to either completely lose my self and become… well, part of Nyx’s shadows, I assume… or to cease existing entirely. Is there even any difference between the two? At least if I die by day, I’ll still be myself at the end… if I let Nyx take me, will I even know if I die? It’s just so unknown, and that scares me.", "Nyx speaks her next words softly. “Small one, as a boon for your years of love, I will offer you the choice. Come to me of your own free will, or allow the day to be your end. This is my mercy to you. I warn you, though: Hemera approaches. You have but a few minutes to decide.”", "As she says this, I see the faintest glimmer of light on the horizon. Nyx speaks the truth. Dawn is coming, and I have only a few moments left.", "I feel the tears begin to fall, and a wisp of satiny smoke whisks them away, then quickly recedes, as if Nyx is a mother trying to decide between consoling her weeping child or letting them handle their sorrow as an adult.", "In some form or another, I am about to die.", "I raise my eyes and attempt a determined nod. I will face this with all the strength that a human can muster.", "My decision has been made. I know that I don’t have to bother vocalizing it. I’m dealing with goddesses, after all. I’m sure they can sense the resolve in my heart.", "Nyx smiles, and I reach my end.", "Credit To: Emilie Magnus", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Wanderer of Blazes	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-wanderer-of-blazes/	8.61	April 15, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Dr. Ellen Kennedy was just locking up her office for the evening when her phone began to ring. She paused at the door. It had been a long and grueling day and a ringing phone this late did not bode well. She sighed. While it didn’t bode well, it meant that it was probably important. Swinging her door back open, she walked over to the still ringing phone.", "“You’ve reached the office of Dr. Ellen Kennedy. This is she speaking,” she said, holding the phone in one hand and her briefcase in the other.", "“Hello, Dr. Kennedy, glad I’ve caught you,” a male voice on the other end. “My name is Detective Carl Rourke.”", "Ellen put her briefcase down on the floor and circled back around to her chair. She had better make herself comfortable. If there was a detective on the phone she was probably going to be here for a while. “Yes, Detective, how can I help you?” She had been through this a few times before. Officers wanting her to disclose patient information followed by her refusing to give it. She had even been summoned to court once over it. Already she was preparing her speech mentally in her head as the Detective continued.", "“I am calling in regards to one Connor Russell. He was found dead outside his apartment building tonight.”", "And just like that Ellen’s speech scattered to the wind. Connor was one of her patients. He had gone through a long and harrowing ten years of therapy after the horrific murder of his best friend and had finally pulled himself back together. Just this afternoon he had been in her office, signing his newly published book for her. “Dead?” she said as she tried to re-marshal her thoughts. “What happened?”", "“From what we can tell so far, a fire broke out on his floor. He was trapped in his apartment and could not make it to the fire escape. Witnesses say he jumped from his window.”", "Ellen put a hand on her desk. Something moved under it. Looking down she saw it was a book, “By the Fire’s Light”. Connor’s book. She put her hand on her head and took a slow and steadying breath. “You want my opinion on the state of his mental health.” It wasn’t a question.", "She could almost see the Detective nodding as he answered. “Yes.”", "Ellen sat up straight in her chair, pulling on her mask of professionalism. Her emotions could wait. “I would say in no way shape or form was Connor Russell suicidal. He had just had a book published and it was selling well. He was getting ready to pursue a PhD in English Literature with an emphasis in folklore. He showed no signs of mental instability that would lead me to conclude that he would wish to take his own life.”", "“I see,” the Detective said. He sighed. “In that case, is there anyone who might bear a grudge against Connor?”", "Ellen stared in front of her, dumbfounded. “Are you suggesting that the fire was arson? Or that Connor did not jump of his free will?”", "“I am not suggesting anything,” the Detective said, no emotion in his voice. “Just trying to gather all the facts.”", "“There is Jared Holloway. He murdered Connor’s best friend, Kurt, ten years ago. However, Jared is still in jail to my knowledge and plead guilty to the crime before the trial. Didn’t even try for a plea bargain.” Ellen paused thinking back to this afternoon. “I do know that Connor went to visit Jared today to talk with him and try to figure out why he killed his friend.”", "“Interesting,” the Detective said on the other end of the line and she could hear scribbling.", "“Detective, did Connor truly jump? Or why would you even want to know about possible enemies?”", "The Detective sighed again. “Okay, this is entirely off the record. Connor pushed himself backwards out the window. Witnesses say it looked like he was yelling at someone before he fell.” He paused. “One witness says they thought they saw someone look out the window after Connor pushed himself out.”", "Ellen felt her mouth drop. “Then why would you think it’s a plain suicide at all?”", "The Detective gave a small laugh. “Because I’m not sure how much I can trust the witness’s testimony. She said the person who looked out the window had no face.”", "*\nEllen sat at her desk long after she had hung up the phone. She had dutifully taken down the Detective’s number and had promised to call back if she thought of anything useful. She stared down at Connor’s book, fingers drumming on top of it. It was absurd. When Connor had first been brought to her office ten years ago he had ranted and raved about how a faceless man had killed his friend. Called him the Slender Man.", "Ellen picked up the book and thumbed through it. It wasn’t true of course. Jared Holloway had murdered Connor’s friend, Kent. Quite violently too. The nature of the crime still gave her the shudders a decade later. Lacerations up and down Kurt’s body with a final deep blow in his chest. From the pictures she had seen he had been drenched in his own blood, making it unlikely he would have survived even without the final blow in his chest cavity. The nature of the crime had caused Connor’s mind to try and protect itself. Unwilling to believe a fellow man could be so callous he had invented this Slender Man to take the blame instead.", "Well, invented wasn’t quite the right word. More like appropriated. From what Connor had told her over the years, especially when he had begun writing his book, she knew Slender Man had originated on the Something Awful forums originally created by one Victor Surge. Not much was know about Mr. Surge as he was reticent with personal information. Regardless, others had gotten their hands on him and he had grown into a full blown internet urban legend. With Connor’s books hitting the stands, it looked like he’d be just a plain old urban legend soon. If anything, Connor’s death would spur sales.", "So it was truly absurd to think a fictional monster had come to life and killed Connor. She could not, would not, and did not believe it. She put the book down. Well, she had to admit, the book was selling well. Perhaps the witness owned a copy of the book and with the fire, and the fact that it was Connor, the writer of the story, plunging from the window, had convinced him or herself that they had seen this Slender Man. That had to be it.", "She sighed, getting up again. She really needed to be getting home. She picked up the book and stuffed it in her briefcase. If she could talk to this witness herself it would help put her mind at ease. But she knew there was no way Detective Rourke would tell her what the witness’s name was, on or off the record.", "As she drove down the road to her house she turned on the radio to her car. “Radio on,” she said as she drove. It turned itself to the preset satellite classical station that she had never bothered to change from the default. “Tune to Local Channel 3” she said, eyes on the road. This was the local news radio station. The announcers droned on for a few minutes about sports, the weather, traffic, and a new tax increase to help the schools. Finally, one of them turned to the subject she had been waiting for.", "“And in tragic news tonight,” the female announcer said, “up and coming local novelist Connor Russell died in a fire at his apartment complex. He apparently fell from his window trying to escape the blaze. Channel 3’s Angelica Logano is now reporting from the scene.”", "There was silence for a few moments as the signal flipped to Angelica. While Ellen waited patiently for Angelica to begin, a loud blast of static burst from the speakers. “Ah, what the hell!” Ellen said. “Mute volume!” she shouted over the blare. The radio quieted obediently. What on earth had caused that? She looked up to see she was driving under a canopy of trees that lined the street leading into her neighborhood. She shook her head. She knew tall buildings and trees could mess with the line of sight that satellite radio needed, but she had always just lost the signal before. She sighed. It probably meant her radio was dying. When she turned the volume back up, the report was over and the announcers were back to talking about the local sports teams.", "After pulling into her driveway, Ellen sighed and turned off the car. Well, it wasn’t a problem missing the report really. She was sure she’d be able to find something about Connor in a simple Google News search.", "Twenty minutes and several articles later brought her no more information than she already knew though. She sighed setting aside her tablet on her bedside table. Even though she was off tomorrow, she still needed to get some sleep. But as she lay tossing and turning in the darkness, she knew sleep would not be coming anytime soon. Leaning over, she turned on the small lamp on her bedside table. She reached into the briefcase she had set next to her bed and pulled out “By the Fire’s Light”. Rummaging in the bag one more time for a pen and notepaper in case she needed to jot anything down, she settled back into her bed. Making herself comfortable, she began to read Connor’s book.", "\nPrologue\nHe hates all he sees. Truly he is not properly a he. He does not think of himself as such. He has no name. He needs no name. He knows what he is. The others have left or gone too sleep. He was not powerful enough to follow those who left and he refuses to give in to sleep. This was his world and he will not surrender it.", "But he is not powerful enough to take a form like others who were left behind. He is merely a fog of hatred. Those who encounter him feel an uneasiness, as if they know they are in the presence of something that should not be there. But he can do nothing more.", "He wandered aimlessly for aeons or minutes he could not say. Time did not exist when this world was his and he does not readily understand it. All he knows is that one night in a forest somewhere lightning strikes in front of him. It is the middle of a hot and radiant summer, and all the wood is dry, waiting for the right match to strike. The lightning sparks a small fire, which quickly catches and grows. He watches, amazed, as the fire consumes all in its path, leaving nothing but blackened ash in its wake. If he could feel love, he would love the flickering of the flames he is now following across the forest.", "As they weave and dance through the night, the flames cross the path of a young boy. He has been separated from his family and he is frightened. Instead of following the flight of the animals, the young boy has run in a circle, and how finds himself trapped by the fire. The nameless one draws close, eager to see what the fire will do to this intruder who has taken his world. The young boy senses him, senses his hatred. He thinks the nameless one is the fire or a being who controls it. And as this fear grips and consumes the young boy, the nameless one feels himself grow solid. He wonders at this as he feels feet touch the ground. He feels arms as long and flickering as the flames growing from what is now a back. He stands tall and black, as shadowy as the flame’s flickering light. His head flows and melts in the heat and he sees himself through the young boy’s eyes and realizes that he has none of his own.", "But it does not matter for this makes him fearful to the young boy. He strikes with one of his flowing arms, casting the young boy into the fire. The young boy screams and pleads. He begs for mercy. The nameless one has none. The flames crackle up and down the young boy, taking first his outer covering and then melting flesh from bone. The young boy has long since stopped struggling, but the nameless one watches until all that is left is white bone. He feels himself growing looser again then and losing form. It doesn’t matter though. He knows what he wants to do now. He turns following the fire’s light before him.", "\nEllen felt herself growing tired and she did not fight the sleep that now came over her. She felt the book fall from her hands and onto her chest as she surrendered herself to the darkness. Her reading material, perhaps, influenced her dreams. Every which way she turned, she found herself surrounded by hot and high flames. In between the flames something dark and lanky darted always just outside of her vision.", "Finally, just as she caught sight of the thing moving in the flames, she woke up. She opened her eyes and stared at her white ceiling for a moment, re-orienting herself with her surroundings. “Strange dream,” she muttered stretching and opening her hands. From her right hand fell a pen. She frowned.", "“Odd,” she said, leaning over to pick it up. “I don’t remember actually taking any notes last night.” Connor’s book slid off the bed and onto the floor next to the pen. As it fell open, a stray mark of blue ink on the pages caught Ellen’s eye. She sighed. Had she accidentally marked the book in her sleep? Picking the book up, she placed it in her lap and looked at the pages.", "What she saw was odder than finding the pen in her hand had been. There was a mark on the page, but it wasn’t a random stray mark. One of the words on the page was circled. “What,” she breathed, reading the word. “Why would I circle the word what?” She flipped through the book. As she did, every once in a while she would catch another page with another word circled. She felt a chill go down her spine. She definitely did not remember doing this last night.", "Grabbing her notepad from her bedside desk, she started to methodically go through the book from start to finish. Every time she came to a circled word she would jot it down on the notepad. When she was finished, she held the notepad in front of her and read what she had written. “I am what you have made me. I like what I am,” she said. The word “like” had been circled several times, unlike the other words, so heavily indented the ink had almost seeped through the page.", "She stared at the notepad for a moment and then tossed it away from her. It hit the wall on the other side of the room, but before it had dropped to the floor, Ellen was already up and in motion. She dug Connor’s file out of her briefcase. Flipping through it, she found the address to his apartment. Grabbing her tablet off her bedside table, she input Connor’s address into Google Maps. As it downloaded directions to his apartment, she hurriedly threw off her nightgown and dressed herself. Five minutes later found her out the door and on the road.", "As she drove she briefly considered stopping for at least coffee to give herself a chance to calm down. A prickling fear she couldn’t dispel stopped her though. She needed to see Connor’s apartment for herself. Beyond that she wasn’t sure what she was doing.", "Pulling into Connor’s complex, Ellen found a parking space a couple lots away from Connor’s apartment building. She didn’t want it to be too obvious what she was doing. She didn’t need management shooing her off the premises. Getting out of the car, she walked as casually as she could toward Connor’s apartment building.", "It was obvious, even without directions, which one was his. The black and charred remains sat in between two other untouched apartment buildings. It almost looked like the other two buildings had ganged up on this one and given it a sound beating, large gaping holes looking like a fist had punch through them. Ellen glanced up to the fourth floor. Connor’s apartment had been somewhere up there. As she drew closer she saw a young woman standing in front of the building also looking up at the fourth floor. She wore ripped blue jeans and a pull over sweater who’s sleeves were too large for her. She looked up as Ellen drew close. “Came to see the wreckage?” she asked, a twisted smile on her lips.", "“Yeah,” Ellen said quietly, grass crunching under her feet as drew even with the young woman. “Someone I knew died in the fire.”", "“That Connor guy,” the young woman said.", "“Yes. How did you know?” Ellen asked turning to her.", "“He’s the only one who died in the fire,” she said, looking down. She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “Saw it happen,” she said quietly. She looked up at Ellen and offered a hand. “Name’s Cassandra.”", "“Ellen,” Ellen said, shaking her hand. Ellen glanced at Cassandra out of the corner of her eye. “It’s such a shame about his death. What with Connor’s book just being published.”", "“He had a book?” Cassandra asked, surprised. “Didn’t know we had an author in our building.”", "Ellen just stared at her for a moment. Cassandra was telling the truth she could tell. The prickling fear ran up and down her spine again. Ellen took a calm centering breath. She didn’t know Cassandra was necessarily the witness Detective Rourke had told her about. Still… “I heard,” Ellen said slowly, “I heard that Connor wasn’t alone in his room when he died.”", "Cassandra looked straight at Ellen for a moment, an expression torn between panic and relief flitting across her face. It was disconcerting. “Well, you heard right,” Cassandra said at last. “I saw someone look out the window after Connor fell.” She turned away and looked up at the fourth floor again. “I saw it again last night too,” she said her voice growing soft. “I dreamed I was still trapped in the fire. And I saw the thing in the flames. I don’t know how, but I could tell it was happy I was there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m kinda glad I’m staying with friends right now. Don’t wanna be by myself.”", "“You called it a thing,” Ellen said, taking an involuntary step closer to Cassandra, trying to control her shaking hands.", "Cassandra gave a short, almost hysterical laugh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t see a face on the thing when it popped its head out the window. Cops think I’m loony.” She shrugged her eyes now defiant, turning back to Ellen.", "Ellen shook her head slowly. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said quietly.", "Cassandra gazed at her for a moment and then turned back to the apartment building. “Yeah, well that makes one of us,” she muttered.", "Ellen went home soon afterwards. She left the radio off on her drive home, her own buzzing thoughts providing her with plenty of entertainment. As she shut and locked the door behind her, she shook her head. She was taking all this far too seriously. She dreamt about this Slender Man after reading a story about him and thinking about him for a good few hours before going to bed. That was not unusual. As for Cassandra, well, it wasn’t like it was easy to see people surrounded by flames and smoke. She probably just saw a person or person shaped object and suggestion had done the rest. That she should have a nightmare about a traumatic experience was not surprising either.", "She paced into the kitchen and grabbed a wine glass out of her cabinet. She poured herself a cup of red wine and sat down at her kitchen table. She watched her willow tree throw its branches in the wind in the backyard. As for the words circled in Connor’s book… She watched the branches dance and play for a few more moment before turning away with a shudder. She was sure there was an explanation for why she would circle those words, she was just too tired to think of it now. She finished her wine and decided she needed to treat herself to a nice long soak.", "That night as she went to bed, Ellen briefly toyed with reading more of Connor’s book. She peeled off her tan pantyhose and lay them on the side of her bed. She shook her head. No, given the dream she had had last night, her imagination didn’t need anymore fuel for tonight. She turned out her lights and quickly fell into an uneasy sleep.", "She dreamed of nothing for a while. Then, slowly, she found flames growing around her again. Something tall and slender weaved in and out amongst the flames. She backed away, trying to find a way out, but everywhere she turned, more fire met her gaze. Finally, the black thing emerged from the flames. She knew what it was. Just too tall to be a man, wearing a business suit with long trailing arms and a smooth blank space where its face should be. She began to shake. “You’re not real,” she whispered.", "The thing merely moved towards her, slowly as if enjoying itself.", "Ellen felt her back stiffen, even in her sleep. She was a psychiatrist for God’s sake. She knew how the mind could play tricks on you when you were stressed. And she knew what was real and what wasn’t. She faced the Slender Man squarely. He stopped “gazing” down at her and Ellen could almost swear his body language was hesitant. “You are not real,” she said fiercely. “This is just a dream. You are a figment of my overwrought and stressed imagination. And I will thank you very much to leave my dream!”", "The Slender Man leapt towards her, tentacles bursting from its back and reaching for her. But even as it flung itself towards her, it seemed to lose cohesion. A puff of wind blew through Ellen and nothing more. The flames snuffed out under the wind’s influence and Ellen found herself surrounded by blackness.", "Ellen woke with a start. Breathing heavily her hand reached for her bedside light. It flipped on and Ellen covered her eyes with one hand. Sitting up, she wiped sweat from her forehead. Her nightgown clung to her back and she shivered as her skin made contact with the night air. She put her hand down on the black pantyhose she had left on the side of her bed before going to sleep. Her body shuddered as she breathed in and out slowly. Well, it looked like she had figured out how to deal with her Slender problem. She laughed quietly to herself looking down at the black pantyhose in her left hand. The black… Her eyes widened as the black moved underneath her hand.", "With a screech she jumped out of her bed. Looking into the corner of her room stood a man so tall his head brushed the ceiling. His “face” looked down at her smooth and blank. And the tendrils on his back began to whip around angrily, crashing into the walls next to him. He took a step forward.", "Ellen felt her back stiffen again. “This may not be a dream,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, but steel underneath it. “But I still know you are not real. I do not give you my belief. And I will thank you kindly to leave my house!”", "He hesitated for one moment and then lunged at her. Ellen realized with horror that he seemed to be solid enough this time though. With a strangled scream she leapt out of the way. Wrenching her bedroom door open she darted out of the room, running through her dark house. She heard him crashing behind her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to look back. Grabbing her car keys off the counter, she dashed out the front door, not bothering to close.", "She hit the unlock button on the keys and the car chirped. Wrenching the passenger seat open, she threw herself inside, shutting and locking the doors behind her. Panting and struggling she crawled into the driver’s seat, jamming the key into the ignition. She turned and heard her car roar to life, headlight’s automatically coming on and illuminating her house. As she tried to throw it in reverse, something and black plunged straight down in front of her into the hood of the car. With a horrible metallic ripping sound, it passed through the hood making the whole car shake. Several other tendrils followed, straight into the engine. The car shuddered and died.", "Ellen pressed herself back in her seat as the tendrils withdrew from the car. She reached for her the driver’s door. She had to run. But even as she did, she felt something hard impact the passenger’s side of the car. The whole car rocked and she lost her balance. Her head banged against the window and she cried out in pain. The car shuddered again and this time turned over, first onto its side and then onto the roof.", "Ellen fell against the roof of her car in the darkness, disoriented and frightened. She tried to move for a door, any door, as she felt something pierce her car again. The sound of liquid running down the side of her car and the smell of gasoline caught her attention. She froze and looked out the passenger side of the car. She could see a trailed of gasoline running down the back window. And in the small amount of light given from the street lamp by her house, she saw a long black tendril flick on the ground by the liquid. It grew suddenly stiff and striked the ground. “Tinder and flint,” she whispered as a small flame erupted from its tip. The fire began to grow eagerly and she watched it trail up her car. She curled into a ball and cried to herself as the flames circled her car, cutting off all her exits.", "*", "Detective Carl Rourke was not having a good night. First he finds out his witness in the Connor Russell case, Cassandra Brighton, has died in a freak fire caused by faulty wiring at her friend’s house. And now here is, standing outside the house Dr. Ellen Kennedy, her car flipped and smoldering, her body, or what was left of it, just now being removed from the wreck.", "“And nobody saw any other cars?” he asked the two beat cops who had arrived on the scene first.", "They both shook their heads. One of them, Patrick he thinks, flips open his small notebook. “One of the neighbors thinks she saw a tall slender man walking away from the car as it burned. She looked outside after she heard what sounded like a car crash.”", "Rourke grunted. “But nobody saw the actual crash,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Two people related to the Connor Russell case both perishing in fires on the same night? Don’t buy it.” He sighed. “At least the witness didn’t claim the guy has no face.”", "Patrick coughed politely and Rourke turned to stare at him. “She didn’t did she?”", "“Ah, no,” Patrick said trying to hide his amusement. “She did mention something about tentacles though.”", "Rourke cursed under his breath and made his way to Ellen’s house. Maybe he could find some real tangible clues inside so he could find the real tangible man behind these killings. Slowly he walked through the house, careful not to touch or move anything. CSI would kill him. And those bozos would be able to clean up the evidence afterwards.", "Eventually he found himself in Ellen’s bedroom. He raised his eyebrows. Slash marks on the walls, strewn books and papers. It looked like there had been a struggle. He crouched down to look at one of the books on the floor. “By the Fire’s Light,” he read. As he did, something black on the wall next to him caught his eye. He stood up abruptly, but there was nothing there but his own shadow. Grunting, he pulled out his smartphone. He quickly made note of the titles of the books on the floor so he could look them up later. And then, with a final sweep around the bedroom, he left to check the rest of the house.", "Author’s Note: This is a sequel to “By the Fire’s Light” which may also be found on Creepypasta!", "Credit To – Star Kindler", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The God Ticket	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-god-ticket/	8.18	April 14, 2013	298	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "My wife is going to kill herself in 5 to 7 business days.", "I’d found the order for a jug of Xanaphril while clearing the internet history of porn and was contemplating it now. I’d known my wife Cindy had been unhappy but I guess hadn’t registered how much yet. Was this a cry for help? Should I say something or just let it fade into the background noise like all of her other passive complaints?", "“Are you ever coming to bed?” Her voice bridges on a shout, causing me to start and close the browser window from habit. A shout. Her deafness is still in full swing, I think to myself.", "Cindy had been diagnosed with a rare form of Ménière’s disease shortly after we’d married two years back. What had started as uneasy moments of vertigo and mild hearing loss in her right ear had quickly erupted into extreme ranges of deafness that would come and go randomly; sometimes affecting her for weeks at a time. Worse still were her ‘falling attacks’. I’ll never forget the first time she’d experienced one.", "We’d been waiting in line for hours outside the Aladdin theater, shivering and keeping close to ward off the first snowflakes of winter. I remember she’d been talking on her cell phone when just like that she collapsed into the street as if she’d tripped – but we hadn’t been moving. It scared the Christ out of me; I thought she’d suffered an aneurism or stroke or even been shot. Understandably, these periods of outrageous vertigo and difficulty hearing the words from her own mouth were deeply frustrating for her and I’d tried my best to be supportive. But it was taking its toll.", "I turn to look at her sullen face. I feel guilty to admit it, but I can hardly stand seeing her when she’s like this. A wise man once said that sadness is a disease. I’d go one step further and say that it’s of the infectious variety. After years of putting up with her, I could go for a handful of those pills myself.", "“Ya, just closing down now.” I shut our laptop and slip into bed next to her. She immediately turns on her side facing away from me. Guess no sex tonight either? Ha, and here I had my hopes up, I think bitterly. Just as well. Hadn’t I read somewhere that if a man goes without long enough, he’ll start having crazy kink-fest dreams? I could go for some of that. Bring on the Asian Schoolgirl…minus the tentacles.", "But my subconscious wasn’t interested in playing house.", "I used to be into exploring all shades of ‘mental awaking’; from failed attempts at telekinesis to lucid dreaming and what I’d liked to call “The God Ticket” – astral projection; the ability to travel anywhere at will. It’d been years since I’d given it any thought until the depressing reality of Cindy’s illness had become more and more apparent. I was never able to successfully ‘leave my body’ but controlling the storyline of my nightly encounters provided a welcome escape. That was, until they took a noticeably violent and uncontrollable turn.", "It takes me a moment to realize where I am, and when I do, my stomach clenches horribly. I’m back at University. And those eyes looking into mine… Susan’s. My ex’s. As is common in dreams, I know there are other people around us – that we’re walking to class inside the L.R. Harrison building in fact – but I don’t see anyone else. I can feel them looking at us but it’s", "just her and those accusing eyes.", "And then the events flash forward. It’s raining and we’re standing under a tree together. I’m hugging her from behind and singing a song about what we’re doing. Her arms lovingly press mine to her chest and she looks up at me again with an expression of betrayal.", "“You said we’d be together forever, right? That you love me ‘past the stars’.” Her words form a knot in my throat. I had said that after all; even meant it. But then Cindy had come along and oh how much better things had looked on that side of the wall. Now there was regret and the awful ‘if’.", "I want to tell her I’m sorry – that I still love her, but I’m having trouble making coherent thought and it doesn’t matter anyway because", "Susan’s hair is practically glowing in the light of the moon. She’s face down on the cement and dear god there’s so much blood. I look at the palm of my hand and find it’s bleeding from some deep slash. She cut me, I think indistinctly, but there is no pain. I feel my body kneel over hers, turning her over. Her face is untouched and as beautiful as ever if not for the oozing gash at the top of her hairline. She opens her eyes again and I can see it – the pain, the question, ‘why?’. I scream my lungs ragged, but not a sound escapes my lips. I want so desperately to call for help, to comfort her, but everything feels distant and I’m not allowed to stop my hands from closing around her throat.", "She’s goes on struggling for a few moments, never leaving my gaze when I do the unthinkable. My body leans forward, my blonde hair cascading over her face and at first I think I’m going to kiss her forehead, when instead my lips close around her right eye. Confusion explodes into horror as I feel every muscle in my mouth contract. Pressure builds inside the seal of my mouth until I can feel something round and wet pass from her body into mine. This shouldn’t be possible! I want to vomit. I want to run away. I want to vanish in a torrent of sobs for my lost love.", "Then I bite down hard and", "I open my eyes. Sweat coats me in a glaze even though the ceiling fan is running at full cycle. Our room is dim with the first light of morning.", "“Jesus Christ. Jesus Fucking Christ, what was that about?” Not daring to speak above a whisper.", "It had felt so real, even now as the distinctly dream-like elements began to stick out like accusatory fingers. I still feel the high from a liter of adrenaline pouring through my veins and consider calling her just on the off chance that I’d strangled and subsequently sucked the vision out of half of her face.", "This thought calms me when I realize how stupid I’m acting. Besides, what new kind of depression would Cindy be thrown into if she caught me thinking about my ex, let alone talking to her again? No, the relief wouldn’t be worth another crack in our marriage. I roll onto my side and caress my wife instead. Her skin is as cold as a frosted window. My eyes fly open and it’s her. Susan.", "I immediately leap from the bed, taking most of the blankets with me. Dear God, it’s actually her. She’s naked, her body frozen from rigor mortis in the same pleading position I’d left her in. For a moment I stand there, unable to fully comprehend what I’m looking at -what have I done!? – when my eyes stop on her face and her missing eye.", "“What have I done? What have I done?!” The words leave my chest in heaving barks.", "I’ve done it. I’ve actually murdered someone. You’ve spent your whole life reading and watching movies about people doing this exact same thing…and now you’re the killer.", "I rub my eyes – at tears that refuse to appear.", "And what do I do now? The guilt comes in torrents, as if from the beats of some ghastly heart. I could hide her. I’d have to live with the guilt for the rest of my life…but I could hide her, for now. My Susan, I’m so sorry.", "I cross to her side of the bed, taking in her beauty for the first time since the last time I’d seen her two years ago. If not for her awkward pose, the dark patches of skin where her body meets the bed and. . .and the empty, half-lidded socket of her eye I’d stolen, she’d pass for. . .a dead body. I wish I could say that she looked like she was sleeping, but that’d be cruel. There is no elegance in death.", "Above all else, the unnaturalness of that sunken lid was making me sick (Did I really do that?) and re-covering her with the bed sheet was a welcome relief. The shudder that comes from beneath the white fabric seems to agree.", "A second rush of adrenaline washes over my face. I can taste something metallic like blood and my skin breaks out in feverish bumps.", "Bodies sometimes move after death, don’t they? I’ve read about that! Sometimes they move and that’s just what dead bodies do.", "I took a step back but then another thought crossed my mind: What if she isn’t dead after all? She knows I tried to kill her, so do I have to finish the job now or drop her off at the hospital on the way to prison?", "I’m shaking now, I can feel it, literally see it from the way my hand quivers as I raise it. This is the part of the horror movie where everyone is telling me stop, to run away! I’ve always hated the cheap ‘jump’ scares, and here I am about to experience one up close – with my own eyes so to speak. Thinking about eyes makes feel light headed and I push it from my mind.", "Slowly, I grip the side of the linen, never removing my gaze from the amorphous shape of my dead ex-lover. My future – everything – hinges on what’s under this piece of fabric. Sucking in a mouthful of frosty air, I slid the sheet back down her body. Down their bodies. There, right before me like the world’s most depraved magic trick laid the bodies of every person I’d ever murdered in my nightmares. My family. My friends. My ex. Their pale bodies tangled; bloodless and naked. Each bearing the unique method of murder I’d put them down with – some missing limbs, others charred and burned. My brother blindly watches me, his face and teeth having been smashed flat with a garbage compactor.", "This time I did not scream. Instead, I was overcome with the dizzying sense that I was now standing on the edge of a cliff. You know the feeling you get? Where you’re so terrified of falling that you suddenly become sure that that’s exactly what you’re going to do? That was the feeling. And that’s exactly what happened next – I fell face first into the necrotic pasta I’d created. I opened my mouth, either to scream or to breath, I don’t know, but instead found the waxy flesh of my mother’s leg in my jaws. Vomit rushed out to meet it. I could feel the dead things all around me begin to spasm and writhe. A hand clawed at my thigh; another at my back. I looked up in time to see that", "Susan was staring at me, her back arching up into a near sitting position before flopping down onto her stomach. Slowly, painfully – it seemed – she dragged herself over the pile of moving corpses until our noses were almost touching. I wanted hysterically to push her away, to escape, but my arms felt weaker and somehow shorter; my body frozen in paralysis. In horror, I realized the lid of her removed eye was opening and closing like a gibbering mouth and that with each retraction I could see into the private gore of her skull. I desperately tried to look away, but stopped. She’s trying to tell me something.", "I could see her mouth moving but I couldn’t hear as if we were miles apart. Furiously, I stared at her lips, trying to make out a word – anything. Around me, the blindly searching hands had found the downy comforter and were in the process of pulling it up over us now in heavy jerking motions. To my left, the closet door slammed open and an avalanche of people I didn’t recognize flooded out. I could feel the blood pulsing in my ears but I still couldn’t put Susan’s words together. “Sea”? “Pay the Sea?” The blanket was crawling over the top of her head now.", "Distantly, I realized that the other cadavers were speaking as well – their rotting lips whispering, again too quietly for me to hear. No, I have to focus! In another second, I’m not going to see anything! And there it was. In the last moment, as the fabric fell over Susan’s face – and my head – I’d caught one word: “Cindy”.", "They were warning me. My wife was next to die.", "* * *", "“You were laughing in your sleep again,” Cindy’s voice, just beside me, makes me jump and nearly flip off the bed.", "Was. . .that a dream too? Again I find myself in our room; the ceiling fan silent and unmoving. I sit up and hold my face in my hands. How much more of this can I take? Did I kill her or didn’t I? Guilt is still hanging over me like a corpse and I’m not sure if this is yet another dream or not.", "Cindy’s burying her face in her pillow looking like she’d just woken from a nightmare herself. It’s obvious she’s feeling sick and there’s the distinct twang of vomit leaping from her hair. But her hearing was back; the worst was behind her again – at least for now.", "“Did I say anything?” I ask this, but I don’t listen to the answer. I know what she’s going to say because we’ve had this conversation before.", "“Ya…you said Susan a few times”.", "A jolt ripples through me, but I do my best to hide it from my face. Usually there’s only the laughing – more of a snicker, really – but this time. . . I’d said her name. In the distance I could hear sirens whip-whirling. Were they meant for me?", "I leaned over and gave Cindy the best side-hug I could manage; kissing her forehead. “Oh right, that was Susan from work. Her father just died and I’ve been thinking about the funeral.” It’s a bad lie, but it’s better than the truth. “I’m going to get a drink, want anything?” She shook her head miserably and I headed for the kitchen.", "For a good few moments I stared dumbly at the cell phone in my hand, building up the courage for what I wanted to do. I can call Andrew. He’d still have Susan’s number and I can call her and I can go back to sleep. This is so stupid! You know that, so why are you doing this?", "If I had to face the possible unthinkable, I wasn’t about to do it alone. I got a tall glass from the cupboard, sloshed a helping hand of vodka into it and filled the rest with orange juice. Dolefully kicking back a mouthful, I turned back to the problem at hand:", "I dialed his number.", "One dial tone. Two dial tones. Come on, buddy, I know it’s the middle of the night, but you have to sense the urgency I’m sending through this phone, right?", "It rang three more times and then went to voicemail. Frustrated, I called again, but still no answer. I stopped, hitching in a breath. Now that I think about it, when was the last time I talked to you, man? With dawning horror, I realized I hadn’t spoken to him in over a month. Not him, not my family either.", "In a panic, I dialed the numbers of every person I cared about, everyone that I had dreamed about with mounting dread. Not a single person I knew answered the phone. Of the strangers that did, they claimed they didn’t know who I was talking about – that the number must have been changed. Others came back disconnected.", "So I had done it then. Murdered everyone I’d ever cared about, but why? And surely there must have been police investigations! Someone must have found a connection between a massacred family and their only remaining son! But then why don’t I remember anyone contacting me? Am I really that sick of a fuck?", "Shock overwhelms me and I crumple to the ground, taking my empty glass with me. Numbly, I try to sit up and realize that I can’t. It’s starting! This must be it! I’m losing control of my body. Lying back down, I roll my eyes in the direction of the phone. I have to call the police. I can’t hurt another person! But the cell phone looks like it’s miles away. I giggle to myself at the absurdity of this and reach for it anyway. My arm stretches like taffy and", "There’s a noise from the hallway. Cindy! Oh god, I have to warn her! Whatever is happening to me is almost complete! She has to run! God I can’t stop this monster inside of me!", "“Shind-y. . . run for. . .hel-puh,” the words form as the spittle on my lips- indistinct and bursting on the ‘p’s’.", "I try to focus on the pink blur of her pajamas when, without warning, she falls to the ground in a fit of retching. No, not now! You can’t get sick now, I need you to run! The world feels tilted on its axis and my body is impossibly heavy. One moment everything seems frozen in place and the next", "She’s on top of me. I can feel the heat of her breath; the sour taste of bile cloying in the air. In a heaving belch, she vomits a thick stream across my face, soaking into my shirt and coagulating in my curly red hair. I watch as it runs down my side and pools next to the glass. The glass! The date her pills would ship…I’d made a mistake…had that been the arrival date?", "She must have known I was a killer. She’s doing the right thing. The world is growing dim and I feel like I’m floating in a cold river. Breathing is becoming less and less natural for me – less important. She’s looking at me now, her face completely devoid of expression. With my last breath I prepare to whisper, “Thank you”, but then I see it – a cut across her palm. It’s something so simple, so mundane but I can hear the click of understanding as realization falls into place.", "The killings won’t stop. I’d spent years of my life trying to escape my body to travel across this world as freely as a gust of wind. It had never occurred to me that I’d actually succeeded, and more. I’d heard it was called dreamwalking – actually living inside another’s dream. But that would be the ultimate freedom. That would be", "“The God Ticket,” I mutter, barely audible.", "She stops, only for a moment and then leans forward, her blonde hair cascading over my face and at first I think she’s going to kiss my forehead, when instead her lips close around my right eye.", "Credit To – ARScroggins", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Joined	https://www.creepypasta.com/joined/	8.06	April 13, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "[The recording starts to play.]", "“My name is Annabelle, and I am fourteen years old. It was about a month ago that I started acting “strangely”, according to my father. Of course, I don’t remember a bit of it.", "“The first time it happened, I did something pretty weird. In the middle of the night, I apparently woke up and opened every single door and window in the entire house. All of them! The pantry door, the back door, the front door, the doors to the cabinets, dad’s room, the fridge and freezer door, and even the door to the cellar out back – which was locked. No one knows how I got the lock off, or even where the lock was. It just vanished. Needless to say, dad was livid. “Bells,” he said – that being what he calls me – “what the hell were you doing?” The freezer motor burned out, and the cellar was very wet from the rain. But my dad didn’t stay mad for long. Ever since mom died, he can’t stay mad at me for long. He keeps saying I’m all he’s got now… and I know what he means. He’s all I have too. I think he was just very worried about me, since he found me outside in my pajamas, soaking wet from the rain, not having a clue how I got out there. He doesn’t always express things the way he feels, but that’s okay. Boys are like that.”", "[The recording starts skipping at this point. A hiss is heard in the background – but it could just be static. It smoothes out, and the girl starts speaking once again.]", "“The second time, I did something pretty awful. When I woke up, I was covered in blood. The knife was still in my hand, and they found—“", "[A crack almost like lightning interrupts the next few words.]", "“—Sox was our cat, see.”", "[The interviewer mutters an affirmation, and asks her to continue.]", "“Dad was pretty scared for me then. He recently became involved with you guys—“", "[The interviewer asks her to clarify for the sake of context in the recording.]", "“Oh, sorry, he recently became involved with the Church of Repentant Sinners. I hadn’t been to church before, but after that my dad said he wanted me to go. No offense to you folks, but I don’t really believe in God—“", "[The interviewer says something inaudible, something about not getting sidetracked. His tone suggests annoyance or impatience.]", "“I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to focus very much these.. these… these…”", "[The girl repeats this word for about two minutes. The interviewer is not heard saying anything or stopping her.]", "“—days. Um. So that was the third weird thing that happened. I went into church that Sunday, but I felt this strange itch. It felt like it was under my skin, you know? I started scratching, and then I started tearing my skin, and soon people started noticing and whispering, and very soon I had long bloody nail marks down my arms and across my stomach and legs. Dad took me out of there, and I was glad, because it made the itching stop.”", "[The interviewer asks her something that is only partially audible, as a slow whirring sound is heard. Fragments include “demon” and “escaping”.]", "“Yeah, okay, I’m not sure you’re right, but if it helps me, let’s do it.”", "[A tonal sound is heard at very high frequency, and is strangely pleasant to hear. Underneath can be heard the interviewer asking her to describe the fourth occurrence.]", "“Okay. It was a couple weeks after the church thing happened. So I got this marker, one of those permanent markers, and I drew on everything. I mean everything. The entire house was covered in black marker. What did I draw? The same thing, over and over. It was a little “2”, with an arrow pointing to the right, pointing towards a little “1”. Then I took a knife—“", "[A sound like a high wind starts to intersperse the recording. The girl’s voice is still audible.]", "“—and I held it to my throat. I have no idea how long I was standing by dad’s bed, but when he woke up, he said I was staring at him with strange eyes. I didn’t speak. I just stared, a wild, crazy stare while he pleaded with me to drop the knife. Finally, I must’ve snapped out of it or something, because I woke up with the knife in my hand and my dad scared ghostly white and begging me not to do anything to myself. I dropped it and started crying.", "“After that, and after seeing what I wrote, he said I must be possessed by a demon or something. And so here we are. This is my pre-exorcism interview.”", "[The interviewer thanks her, and the recording ends – but not before a strange voice is heard whispering “soon”.]", "[The video starts to play. It is instantly apparent that something has gone terribly wrong. The video has a very un-electronic distortion to it. Five marks score the video, are repeatedly replaced by a clear image, and then new marks start to form immediately in a descending stroke – almost as if someone were clawing at the image itself. This continues throughout the video.]", "“No!” screams the girl. She is restrained to a bed in a small room with several men wearing black garments.", "“In the name of—“ [The audio cuts out for a few seconds.]", "“S-S-Something’s wrong guys, I can’t see anything!” screams the girl in a quavering voice.", "“Depart!” says one of the men in robes. Then, “depart!” they all shout. This chant continues for around three minutes as the girl starts sobbing uncontrollably.\nAs the chanting starts to wind down, the girl cries out, “Dad! Make them stop! Please! … Please… I don’t want to go,” as her voice trails off. One of the men mutters something to another.", "[At this point, both the video and the audio undergo very typical electronic distortion. Nothing can be seen or heard, at least in the video, for several seconds. Underneath the static is a single word: “Goodbye.” The video becomes clear, and no more scratching distortions are seen.]", "The girl is no longer crying. She is, in fact, very still. A man in jeans and a flannel shirt runs into the room and unties her restraints. He embraces her, quite emotional and seeming to be relieved. Then she speaks.", "“Hello, father.”", "“Hi Bells. How do you—”", "“Don’t call me that.”", "“What?”", "“Don’t call me Bells. I don’t like that name. Call me the name you picked out for me when I was born. Annabelle. It was beautiful. And I’m not going to be called the same name as that – thing.” She utters the last word with terrible vehemence.", "The man is clearly confused, and looks pleadingly at the men in black. They start to whisper among themselves. Their concerned glances play off one another’s faces, and cold, harsh realization washes over each of them one by one.", "One of the men approaches the man who still held the little girl. “Mr. Goodwin, I am sorry… I am truly sorry…”", "[Another man quickly goes to the camera and shuts it off.]", "I remember now. I remember everything. I just wanted to live again. Dad, I love you so much, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take your daughter from you. I came to her while I – she – was still a baby. I didn’t think it was wrong. I didn’t think she would miss her life. I didn’t think she would come back. I didn’t even think she was there, since it was so easy to stay inside her. So easy I forgot everything about who I used to be – what I used to be.", "I didn’t even know what was going on. I only remembered after I left my – her – body. It is so strange and cold here. Everything in the world is gray and misty. All I see are people fading in and out of the dark. No one sees me or speaks to me. I am so alone. There is no God, no Heaven, no Hell, no demons or angels. Just people ripped from their bodies, unable to feel anything but regret and loss for what was once theirs. We just rot, dad. I was rotting, and I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I had no choice. I’m so sorry. I hope you love her as much as you loved me, and I hope one day you can forgive me for what I did.", "Credit To – RE Holden\nCredit Link – [email protected]", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
If You Go Down To The Woods	https://www.creepypasta.com/if-you-go-down-to-the-woods/	7.96	April 12, 2013	298	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "The young girl made her way through the thick undergrowth. It was not yet dusk, but the sun would disappear quickly behind the densely-packed trees. There is a sort of amplified silence that resonates through woods. All outside noise is cut off so that the only remaining sound is the woods itself. That’s why the sudden crashing to the side of the girl startled her so much. Animals know the danger of making such noise; this was no animal. She spun around as a man emerged from the foliage. Surprise flashed across his face but was almost instantly replaced with a warm smile.\n“Hello, little lady.”\nThe man’s hands were dirty. He was carrying a shovel. The girl wondered what he was doing out here.\nHe spoke again. “What’s your name?”\n“Goldilocks.”\nThe man laughed at this. “Well, I guess that makes me Papa Bear.” He smiled widely. “What’s a girl as young as you doing out here all by yourself?”\n“Looking for my friend Janie.”\n“Well I can help you look for her.” He grabbed hold of her hand. “Where’s little Janie likely to be hiding?”\nThe girl looked sad. “She’s not hiding. She’s missing. Me and Janie used to play in the woods together. But last week she didn’t come back.”\n“The woods can be a dangerous place for a little girl. Don’t worry, though. I’ll take good care of you.” Again he smiled that big smile of his.\nThe man began to lead the young girl further into the woods. Hand in hand, they walked on until the trees towering above them entirely blocked out the sky. The girl shivered.\n“Poor little thing. You’ll catch your death.” They both stopped as the man lay down the shovel. He took off his jacket and helped the girl into it. He gave her shoulders a gentle rub. “Do you want to know a story about these woods? Bad things happen in here. That’s what I heard. There was once a little girl who was walking through here all alone. It had gotten so dark that she couldn’t find her way back home. Luckily for her, she found a nice man in the woods.”\n“Lucky for her,” the girl said.\n“Lucky for both of them. He was able to take her back to his house – his little gingerbread house – all alone in the woods.”\n“That sounds nice,” the girl said, “what happened next?”\n“Unfortunately, the girl was naughty. She wasn’t grateful to the man for saving her. She ran off, back into the woods. That night, the little girl died, all alone in the woods. No one ever saw her again.”\n“How do you know she died if she was never found?” the girl asked.\nThe man leant down, drawing his face close to the girl’s. “Someone has to know, don’t they?”\nThe young girl smiled as she swung the shovel into the side of the man’s head. “Your stories are so good. I think you’ll make a great friend for Janie.”\nThe girl whistled to herself as she began to dig a hole.", "Credit To – Ben H", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The White Face In The Window	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-white-face-in-the-window/	8.86	April 11, 2013	298	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "Last winter I was walking through a park near my apartment when I came across five young boys attempting to smash an object with a hammer. Granted, Chicago children are probably more violent than most, but I am not used to seeing such things in my particular neighborhood. I jogged over to them mostly out of curiosity, but also to make sure they weren’t torturing some poor squirrel or a pigeon or something. If I had known the sort of thing I was about to come in contact with I would have probably went home and bolted the door.", "One of the boys was clutching some sort of dark wooden board covered with black paint, and holding it at arms length with his face turned away and his eyes closed. A second boy (I remember one of his friends calling him either Peter or Paul) was aggressively prying the hammer out of the hands of the boy who had been swinging at the wooden board moments earlier while the other two kids watched without saying a word. In spite of all the hammering and arguing, the surface of the board looked perfectly smooth and intact from the angle I was approaching. I put on my toughest adult voice and got the kids to quit yelling and fighting over the hammer just long enough to ask them what in the hell they were trying to do.", "The boy holding the hammer (Peter or Paul) looked me straight in the face and said, “we’re gonna break the devil into six pieces and bury him in the woods.”", "I was stunned but also amused. I figured he had seen something like this on television and sort of laughed it off as I asked, “so you kids thing this plank is the devil?”", "Peter or Paul was clearly not pleased by this question and said something along the lines of “Are you stupid or what? That thing aint a plank!”\nAs I took my first look at the wooden board up close I was surprised to see that the entire surface had not been painted with black paint as I had at first thought. It was actually hand painted to the point that it was nearly covered with a language I wasn’t familiar with. It looked vaguely Asian or middle-eastern. It was entirely alien to me aside from the upper left and right corners, which displayed very detailed paintings of the sun and moon. In the center of both the sun and moon were unnerving faces with blank expressions. As I thought about this last detail it became clear to me that this board was some sort of antique hand-made Ouija.", "Peter or Paul explained to me that his grandfather owned an antique store and was on his deathbed. He had requested that the boy’s mother take this board from his store safe and break it into six pieces and dispose of it immediately, burying each piece in the woods not less than a mile apart from each other. He would not say why this had to be done, but continuously referred to the board as “that wooden devil.” When the boy’s mother had refused, thinking it ludicrous as any rational person would, the grandfather had enlisted the boy and his friends, given them the store key, and told them the safe combination. I remember he kid telling me he was disappointed; he had always thought the safe held his grandfather’s stash of ancient pirate treasure.", "Upon grabbing the wooden board from the safe, however, the boys had run into two problems. Firstly, the board was hard as stone and the best way to break the thing was turning into a point of argument now that the hammer had failed. The second issue was that woods in Chicago are scarce, and woods large enough for burying things miles apart from each other are even scarcer. Realizing it was most likely not the best idea to get in the way of a group of kids’ family issues when a hammer and a wooden slab are involved, I figured my best option was to break the thing myself to make sure the kids didn’t get themselves hurt, then be on my way.", "This proved to be extremely difficult. I remember thinking that the board had to be reinforced with a steel plate or something. I was beating on the thing with the hammer for the hundredth time when I remembered that I had a hacksaw I had bought to remove a broken tree limb two years earlier, and had never touched it since. I told the kids to sit tight and jogged down the block to my apartment. By the time I got back it was snowing and the boys were picking up the snow and throwing it at each other in clumps rather than snowballs. It was an unusually mild winter for us last year and I think this may have been the beginning of the only snowstorm we had all year if I remember correctly. The five of them continued to play with the snow as I hacked into the board with my saw.", "It took an unusually long time but it worked. When the first piece snapped off I picked it up and saw that the grain where it had been cut was unlike anything I had ever seen before, spiraling in a very distinct pattern that I can still picture in my head. The unstained wood was a deep reddish-brown.", "When the board was in six pieces Peter or Paul grabbed the corner with the picture of the sun, then he and one of his friends ran a short distance into a wooded area on the edge of the park and buried it about a foot down. As this was going on the other boys explained to me that they were planning on spending the day riding the elevated train and taking the pieces to the various wooded areas they had come up with. They just needed one more place to bury the sixth piece and hadn’t come up with anything yet. As it happened to be a Sunday, if I recall, I offered to do it on the way to work the next day and they agreed that it was a good plan. As the five of them walked away toward the north I saw them enter a station for the Blue Line train and I never saw them again.", "Later that night as the snowstorm started to get really bad I remember thinking that I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake by letting them go off on their own, but a strange adult hanging around with five neighborhood kids tends to give people the wrong idea, regardless of whether he’s looking out for their safety. I hoped they had gotten their task finished before the storm had really hit.", "", "The corner of the board I had wound up with was the corner with the painting of the moon with the blank expression. I had really planned to bury it, I swear I did, but we all wound up snowed in the following morning and it ended up in the drawer of an end table. I don’t know if you’ve ever been snowed in during a Chicago winter, but when this happens they tend to send out these huge monolithic snow plows that push all of the snow into mountains on top of all the parked cars, none of which will be capable of moving an inch for at least two days.", "The day was rather uneventful, but as nightfall approached I was taken by the eerie notion that someone was watching me through my living room window. I kept glancing toward it expecting to see someone peering in at me, despite the fact that I live on the third floor and my living room window faces the street. After a while I shook off the notion, and I believe I went to sleep around eleven.", "Around one a.m. I was awoken by what sounded like a mechanical device humming loudly and assumed it to be my heater, possibly being overworked due to the snowstorm. I stood up and put my ear next to the vent, but the sound wasn’t coming from there. I walked into the living room to check the settings on my thermostat, and immediately every hair on my body stood at full attention. The sound was coming from the direction of my living room window, and as I turned to look I caught the ghastly image of a solid white face with a wide mouth and dark eye sockets on the other side of the glass. I quickly turned on a light and the face disappeared. The mechanical droning noise seemed to recede.", "The White Face In The Window – Noise", "Had it all been my imagination I wondered? When I was younger I once had an episode of sleep paralysis where I witnessed a tree devouring my neighbor’s dog through a bedroom window, but when I came out of it the tree was back to normal and the dog was perfectly fine. Had this been something similar? Nevertheless I hardly slept the rest of the night. I kept thinking I was hearing that deep mechanical drone somewhere in the distance.", "By the next night I had regained my wits and fell asleep in my bed some time around midnight. I awoke once again, terrified, to the sound of the same mechanical drone as the previous night, but this time much louder. As I sat up in bed I saw the ghastly white face with sunken eyes on the other side of the window near the foot of my bed, no more than three feet from where I lay sleeping. It had no neck, arms, torso, nothing. It seemed to just float there above the streetlights below, emanating that horrible humming sound. I instinctively grabbed the drapes and pulled them closed, but the sound continued. Remembering what had happened the night before, I ran to the lights and flipped the switch. The noise slowly faded but I was too afraid to open the drapes for the rest of the night.", "The next morning I was still unable to get to work due to my car being frozen beneath a seven-foot pile of ice, but I absolutely had to get out of that apartment. I thought that if the face was going to come back that I would have to be ready for it somehow. I went to a sporting goods store in the neighborhood and purchased a box of ammo for the .22 range pistol I hadn’t used in years. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing. I also bought some caffeine tablets and a bag of coffee.", "Before nightfall I set up camp in my living room with the pistol and a coffee pot, took one of the caffeine tablets, and rigged up a portable audio recorder that I sometimes use for work. I don’t own a camera and my cell phone’s video function had not been working for months, so the best I could do was attempt to snap some photos in the dark with the cell if the face appeared again.", "It showed itself around three in the morning. I was beginning to crash from all of the caffeine when I began to hear the droning sound approaching from the distance. I readied my gun in one hand and my cell phone in the other but the face didn’t appear at the window. I began to wonder if perhaps the face was outside my bedroom window, and as I snuck through the dark toward the door the sound seemed to get louder. However, as I entered the room, the door slammed and locked behind me and I heard glass shattering in the living room. Suddenly the apartment was filled with the noises of things being smashed, thrown, and torn to pieces. The droning noise was deafeningly loud and I covered one ear and turned my head away as I clawed at the doorknob with my other hand, but it simply would not open. It was as if the lock had been welded shut. After about thirty seconds of this I raised my foot and smashed the door open with two kicks. Immediately the crashing in the living room stopped, but the room itself had been completely torn to pieces . And as I looked up above the debris at the shattered window I saw the face one last time staring at me from the other side of my demolished venetian blinds. It opened its mouth exposing a wide dark cavern the likes of which I hope to never see again, and the horrible sound got louder and louder as I snapped a single photograph with my camera and the flash went off.", "", "Then in an instant the face was gone. All I have to prove my story is a single blurry photograph and the audio taken by my portable recorder in those last few minutes. But the thing about it that disturbed me the most is the corner of the wooden board with the painting of the moon was sitting atop the debris in the exact center of the room, and the face had been altered so that the expression was identical to what I had just seen in the windowpane with the wide, gaping, cavernous mouth.", "I buried it in the woods the following morning.", "Credit To – Nick Ledesma", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Wraith	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-wraith/	6.86	April 10, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "The murky fog made it difficult to see where the forest ends and the road starts. It was late dusk but the tree lined road had trees whose branches sheltered the road from any sunlight. Twilight was soon approaching so the walk became darker and darker. To the left of me was a forest and to the right was even more forest, the trees were so close together you couldn’t see anything only black shadows. As I walked along that long and lonesome road, I kept my mind blank and tried not to creep myself out. I looked up at the canopy above me, and to the left and the right of me, I really am surrounded by trees, I thought. That one narrow road in the centre of an intimidating forest was probably used by travellers, strolling players and traders wondering from one market or village to another. Or maybe the road was used by cunning highwaymen gunning down their victim to either take their money and goods or their lives.", "I tried to keep my mind blank to drown out the whispers of the trees enclosed on me. Imagine all the secrets those trees new, every secret about every person who strolled down that road. If trees could talk would they tell us everything or remain quiet as they did now? Would they tell us about all the events that happened there that they have witnessed? The mercenaries, highwaymen and robbers who murdered all of the travellers, strolling players and tradesmen were forever watched by the surrounding eyes of the tightly packed trees. There were murders on this road, I thought, in this very spot where I’m walking. Oh stop it. I was starting to scare myself.", "I listened around. There was no wind. No birds. No crickets. Why is it so quiet? No noise. It was just me, the surrounding forest and my thoughts. I had forgotten about the murky fog I was in. It had become even denser. Quickly it became almost too thick to see through. I couldn’t feel any wind but the bushes and branches behind me were rustling. I quickened my pace. The forest seemed to go on forever. Every tree was identical and the rustling followed me like a creature running through the bushes. I couldn’t understand how the bushes would rustle without the wind. Is something following me? Or someone?", "I flinched as a huge branch suddenly snapped and echoed through the forest. It rang in my ears and I immediately stopped in my tracks. I stood there frozen to the spot. I did not move a muscle and I could feel my heart pounding so loudly. I strained my ears to listen for any movement behind me. I sensed the presence behind me. Someone was following me. I started walking subconsciously. I pressed on in a straight line and quickened my pace. They quickened. I slowed down to hear their footsteps but they sped up. I panicked. I ran down the pitch dark road. I ran between the forests either side of me. I ran over the cobbles of the road, which hurt my feet as I sprinted without thinking. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to turn around. I knew I would freeze if I saw somebody behind me. I was exhausted and couldn’t even tell where my feet were going. I slowed down slightly but tripped on a loose cobble lying upright on the road. I fell to the ground and smashed my right elbow on the cobbled ground. I cursed my clumsiness. The road was damp from the fog and cold to the touch. I sat up and examined my elbow as much as I could. It was dark so I tried to make my eyes see more clearly but failed. My elbow was throbbing with pain and for a few moments I forgot about the follower. As I stood up I searched for any figures. There was no one here. I either out ran them or I imagined it.", "I took two steps back and bumped into what looked like a sign post made of extremely old rotten wood. I couldn’t make out what some of it said at first but what I could make out said ‘The Old Mill’. A mill. Excellent. Human beings. Or at least a safe place to be. I could just stay there till dawn; surely it wasn’t a long way off, I thought. I had walked down that road for hours. I looked up at the sign, it pointed diagonally through the forest. At first I thought somebody may have bumped it to point away from the road but then as I followed where it was pointing I saw there was a path buried and entrapped by thorns, nettles and bushes. It must have been a shortcut, or a walker’s trail. I didn’t know whether to follow the road onwards or risk getting hurt by thorns and nettles and follow the trail to the safety of a mill. I thought it over for a minute, still facing the horizon of the road. I was about to leave and follow the cobbled road onwards when a dark shadow loomed over me. I saw it appear on the floor in front of me. I could sense that someone was behind me. No. It didn’t feel like someone, I thought. It didn’t feel human. I just stood there, frozen, staring at the shadow that did not belong to me.", "A fog-like smoke floated around my feet clearly visible through the previous fog. In only a short amount of time did it completely cover my feet and the strange shadow. I could still sense that something was behind me. If it wanted to kill me wouldn’t it have done so already? I thought. So I inhaled a big breath and swung around sharply to see what was behind me. There was nothing here. No person. No killer. No inhuman monster out to get me. My eyes searched my surroundings looking for anything, anything at all. I felt so happy. I smiled. I turned and looked at the trees next to the sign post. I was trying to see through the trees as far as I could but it was just darkness.", "A sudden chill flew through the air which wiped the grin off my face as fast as a pendulum swung. I was still staring through the darkness between the trees when, I don't know what, but a shadowy, smoky demonic face came hurtling towards me. The face felt as if it literally went through me and I screamed as I saw my fears before my eyes. The impact threw me onto the floor. I sat there dazed and petrified as I pulled myself together, struggled and scurried to get up and ran as fast as I could through the thorn entrapped trail heading towards the mill. I have never run so fast in my life. I just kept running. The fears and the face were still burned into my mind. My legs were being scratched and my trousers were ripped in many places. I was bleeding everywhere. As I ran through the forest following the trail, I ran up and over a small hill. As my eyes adjusted to light there it was; the old mill. I’m nearly there, I thought. Come on. The nettles and thorns disappeared and the forest floor turned into soft grass. I was in open air. No forest just an old mill. I still pictured that demonic face. I was still petrified. I could still hear rustling in the forest. Maybe that face was following me again, I thought. No. Not again.", "I finally reached the mill. I stammered to open the huge barn doors. I pulled up the heavy wooden bolt. Opened the door and raced in. I walked away from the door, backwards. Nothing is going to hurt me here, I thought. I’m safe. My heart was pounding so loudly I thought it would explode. I heard a low rumbling behind me. I slowly and hesitantly turned around. A huge strange shadow emerged from under the door. It glided slowly towards me. I stepped backwards against the wall. There was nowhere to go. It came closer. And closer. And closer. It was like nothing I ever saw. I was cornered, trapped. The shadow was at my feet now. It sucked itself up through my legs. It froze me to the spot. Tears were running down my face as it made its way up through my body. It felt like it was sucking everything out of me. The pain was excruciating, unbearable. I could feel the shadow flowing through my veins but felt like sharp knives instead of an untouchable shadow. The monster flowed up through my bloodstained legs. Through my hips. Through my torso. My heart stopped. No heart beat. It made its way up my neck and into my skull. As it hit my brain it felt like it was sucking all the life out of me. It floated out of the top of my head and as the last inch of the shadow left my body I fell to the ground. Nothing. No heart beat. No life. No warmth. No soul.", "That’s what it does. The Wraith. It takes multiple forms to manipulate its victims but it’s commonly seen in its shadow form. Either as a stalking shadow upon the ground or a rotting corpse in the guise of a shadow. The Wraith does not know the meaning of mercy, by causing unbearable pain, it sucks the soul out of your body and your body disappears into the ground. The Wraith takes your body to feast on in the underworld. All that is left is your shadow imprinted into the ground. Permanently.", "Credit To – Gina Hollaway", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Ojos Blancos	https://www.creepypasta.com/ojos-blancos/	8.38	April 9, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I met Alex in middle school. He was always really shy. He usually sat by himself, at least a seat away from anyone else. After a few days of class I decided to sit by him. He looked discouraged, it seemed he had forgotten his book for that class. I proceeded to hand him mine. “Here,” I said, “I don’t need it anyway.” Alex looked at the book for a moment, hesitated, and then reached out, like a cautious animal and took the book slowly.", "“Thanks.” he said dully.", "“I’m Daniel.” I said, extending my hand.", "“Alex.” He replied. Looking at my hand like it was diseased or something. I sat down, feeling a bit defeated, but that didn’t stop me. Something about this kid was different, but he seemed alright, there was something, something good in him. Now I know the cause of it, as will be explained later in the story. His energy was good, that’ll explain it well enough for now.", "I kept talking to him as days went by. I always sat beside him. I would just talk small talk, random things usually found interesting by middle school boys. Things like girls I liked, video games I had played, or movies I had seen. He would mostly just listen at first, occasionally giving small, usually single syllable answers or comments, but as time went by he loosened up a bit and began talking. We found that we had a lot in common and quickly became great friends.", "This was a big deal for me. I had moved around a lot in elementary school. I was always the new kid, and never had many friends, in fact, being small and kind of geeky, I was often picked on. This didn’t change in middle school, except, we had lived in that town long enough that the bullies actually knew my name instead of just calling me “new kid.” Alex was a bigger kid, not big as in chubby, but big as in strong.", "I was telling him about this one day when he said to my surprise, “I have the same problem.” I asked him what he meant. “My brother, he bullies me a lot. He’s a lot older than I am. He does things that I don’t really like, and when I tell him so he beats me up.” he explained. He made a kind of confused face, then sighed. “But he’s always there for me. He’s alright, I guess.”", "We walked outside for the end of the school day, when one of my usual bullies approached us. “What’s up Danny boy?” the bully jeered. He looked over to Alex and made a face of mocking surprise. “Oh, and the silent kid! Knew you’d end up hangin’ out with a dork like Danny.” The bully, named Kevin, laughed loudly. I looked to Alex, who was looking up above Kevin’s head. I looked to see what he was looking at, and that was the first time I saw Alex’s brother, Jacob.", "Jacob was a full head taller than Kevin. His eyes full of anger. Kevin saw us looking behind him and smiled. “Let me guess, you’re trying to trick me into thinking there’s a teacher or something behind me, aren’t you losers?” he said. We both shook our heads slowly, still looking up at Jacob. I was honestly scared. The look on Jacob’s face was truly terrifying, and Kevin finally turned around to see him and scoffed.", "“Who the hell are you?” Kevin said, looking at Jacob like a piece of rotten food. Jacob reached down and grabbed the front of Kevin’s shirt with one hand and lifted him into the air. Kevin was then silent as he stared into Jacob’s hateful eyes.", "“Jacob!” Alex yelled, and Jacob blinked, dropping Kevin hard onto the ground. Kevin crab walked away quickly then got himself up and began to run away. Jacob looked at Alex, still angry. He tilted his head to me. “Who’s this?” he asked. His voice was low, and emotionless.", "“He’s my friend Jacob. Leave him be.” Alex explained. “We need to go.” Jacob said, as he looked at me, turned, and began walking away. Alex looked to me before following him. “Here, you should come over and hang out, I have some things I want to show you.” he said and handed me a slip of paper with his address on it. I nodded and he followed Jacob.", "I stood there for a moment. Before they had left, Jacob had looked at me, looked me straight in the eyes. I felt as if I couldn’t look away, and I felt all of Jacob’s hatred burning within me. I finally shook the feeling and went home.", "Alex and Jacob had lived on their own since a year before I met him. Their parents had died when they were very young and they ended up moving from foster family to foster family over and over again, until Jacob was old enough to take care of Alex and become his guardian. They lived in a small house in an old part of town. It stood only one story up, but they had a basement, which I was never allowed to go down to.", "I went to Alex’s house later that day. I entered and we went into the kitchen, which held the door into the basement. As Alex and I stood in there and talked, Jacob came up from the basement. He looked at me once again with that look as he closed the door. I could swear I saw his eyes begin to get lighter when Alex said firmly, “No, Jacob.” Jacob smirked and walked down a hallway and into what I assumed was his bedroom.", "Alex then led me to his bedroom. It was small, the only furniture he had was his bed. He had many other things, like CDs and books, but they all sat on the floor in little neat piles. Alex sat on his bed and I sat on his floor, looking through all of his books and CDs as we talked about school and the different music artists that we both liked that I found as I looked through the piles.", "“I want to teach you something.” he suddenly said, breaking the current conversation about one of those artists. He hopped down from his bed and sat in front of me.", "“Alright.” I said. I felt a little strange. I had no idea what he was about to teach me.", "“Have you ever heard about Energies?” he asked. Now, I had never been, and still am not, a spiritual person. He was talking about the kind of thing you hear about in Yoga classes, things like Chakras and Reiki, now I view it as more of a science than anything, after seeing it in action, but more on that later. I promptly told him that I hadn’t and he held his hand flat out to me, palm down.", "“Put your hand as close as you can to mine, without touching it.” he said. I hesitated, and looked at his hand like are you serious? He nodded towards his hand and raised it a little. I rolled my eyes and complied. Then my hand became warm, and I felt my nerves in my hand start to tingle, almost like I could feel his hand on mine, though our hands weren’t touching.\n“Feel that?” he asked.\n“Uh, yeah.” I said. Amazed at what I was feeling.\n“That’s Energy,” he explained, “it’s a combination of your spirit, your body, and your minds energy. It’s almost like an electrical impulse, and, just like electrical impulses, it can be controlled.”", "I nodded, still able to feel the Energy between our hands. Then I got really tired, and I felt a pull from his hands, I pulled my hand away and looked at Alex with a confused face.", "“See? I can control it, and take energy from you, but there are ways you can block that from happening. Here.” He then put his hand on my shoulder, and that feeling of being tired went away. “Now, to block someone from draining you, all you really have to do is avoid direct Energy contact of any kind. That includes looking into someone’s eyes, especially looking into someone’s eyes.” I quickly looked away from him and he laughed. “Don’t worry, I wont drain you again, I just wanted you to know what it feels like.”", "“When someone is trying to drain you, or attack you with their Energy, all you have to do is turn away from them, and not look them in the eyes, that’s very important. Especially Jacob. You felt it earlier, didn’t you?”", "Suddenly it made sense, so now I wouldn’t feel the way I had when Jacob had looked at me that way. I still didn’t completely believe him, but hey, it was worth a try. So I remembered what he said, and I never did look Jacob in the eyes again, and that weird feeling never happened again when he was around.", "–", "I remained friends with Alex all through high school, and even into college. Living in a college town, we both ended up at the local college and we even had some classes together. As soon as Alex was old enough to take care of himself, Jacob moved out of their house, and I moved in. It was our sophomore year in college when things got a little strange and when the events happened that changed my life, probably for the rest of my life.\nAnother person also remained in town, and that was Kevin. Throughout the years he still would mess with Alex and I. Though, as we got older, it didn’t bother us nearly as much, not until one night in late November of this past year. Kevin drove up one night, drunk as he could possibly be and still have the ability to walk, with a bunch of his, also drunk, football buddies. We don’t know how he figured you where we were living, but he found out somehow. They all got out of the car and Kevin started banging at the door.", "It was four in the morning so Alex and I were both asleep, but the banging kept going on and eventually woke us both up. I walked out of my room, the room that was previously Alex’s, just as Alex was walking out of Jacob’s old room, now his.", "“Who the hell is knocking at our door at this time of night?” Alex asked me. I hadn’t quite woken up yet and my throat was sore, so I just shrugged and we went to the front door, with Kevin still knocking loudly.", "As we approached the door a long string of knocking stopped and we heard “Come on geeks! Open the door!” from Kevin on the other side, followed by scattered laughter by his buddies. Alex and I both sighed loudly and looked at each other. Then Alex rolled his eyes and opened the door.\n“What do you want Kevin?” Alex asked in an irritated tone.", "“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt the married couples alone nighttime?” he asked. His friend made some lewd gestures behind him and proceeded to laugh again. I could tell that Alex wasn’t in the mood to deal with this kind of thing at that moment. I could almost sense him getting angry.", "“Go away asshole.” Alex said and began to shut the door. Kevin stopped the door from closing and forced it open, “No no no,” he said, “I wanna see you gay lover’s little love-shack.” He snickered and there was a struggle between the two with the door.", "“You want to come in? Alright then.” Alex said and he let go of the door quickly, sending Kevin straight to the floor. Alex and I snickered, even Kevin’s friends were laughing at him. He got up as quickly as he could, being so drunk.", "“You’re gonna pay for that geek.” he said and sloppily punched Alex in the nose. Alex’s head was turned slightly from the punch, but he kept his footing. He turned his head slowly back to Kevin, his eyes burning with anger and hate, the same look that Jacob always seemed to have.", "“Okay, that’s it.” he said, his voice had become lower, almost layered, like those Hollywood double-voices you hear in movies, but it was subtle. Kevin saw the look on his face, recognized it, and began to back away, but stopped, almost as if he couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away. His friends saw the look and started to back away. Suddenly, Kevin’s body was pulled into the house by some invisible force, and the door was slammed shut, without Alex or I touching it. I could hear Kevin’s friends on the other side of the door, saying things like, “Let’s get outta here!” and “Leave him, this is some ghost shit!” and soon after the car had driven off.", "Kevin’s body stood there, suspended into the air, unable to move, Alex just looking at him with that infuriated look. I had taken a couple of steps back, unable to speak. Then Alex started to walk with Kevin’s body always right in front of him, floating there. Kevin’s face was locked in a look of uncontrollable horror. He looked like he was trying to open his mouth to scream, but couldn’t. Alex started walking to the basement.", "I followed behind him as if in a trance, I couldn’t believe what was going on in front of me, and I couldn’t say anything to stop it. We went down to the basement, and I stayed in the corner right by the stairs, but Alex led Kevin to the middle of the square old basement room, and just stared at him. Alex had his back to me, but I could see Kevin hanging there. Kevin’s whole body began to tense up and shake, almost like he was having a seizure of some kind. I slumped back into the corner, and sat on the cold hard floor. Kevin’s body continued to shake as a blue light emanated from Alex’s body and seemingly reached out to Kevin. It was at this point that I realized that Kevin’s body wasn’t seizing, he was trying to get away, but couldn’t. He began to shake harder as the blue light came near him. It finally reached him and his body stopped moving. Then it pulled back and a form of Kevin came with it, made of the same blue light. Kevin’s physical body slumped down to the floor as his very soul was pulled from his body. At this point I finally screamed, but I couldn’t look away. Kevin’s physical body shriveled up and became a half decayed corpse right then and there. His spirit floated and flailed in front of Alex. Then it began to compress, as if someone was crumpling it like a piece of paper. Ghost-like blood began to pour from every orifice of Kevin’s spirit and “evaporated,” for lack of a better word, almost instantly as it hit the ground, until it was as shrunken and decrepit as his physical body. It kept compressing down until it was just a crumpled ball of blue light, which floated back to Alex. I heard the clicking sound of teeth and saw a large flash as the blue light disappeared.", "I began to cry and hid my face in my hands. Alex was just standing there, when I looked back I screamed and then passed out. What I had seen was Alex, but it wasn’t him. His face was shrunken like the corpse before him, but still had color. His teeth were long and pointed, and stuck out from his lips. Then there were his eyes, oh god his eyes! They were all white, and glowing in the darkness, and blood ran like tears from them all the way down his face.", "I woke up with a start. I was in my own bed. Alex was sitting in a chair next to my bed, his back to me. When I woke up he turned to me. I half expected to see the horrible face I had seen before, but it was his real face, and he looked as if he had been crying. I backed away from him on my bed. He nodded.", "“You should be scared of me.” he said. “I’m a monster.” Another tear fell from his face. I relaxed a bit at that moment, and moved back towards him.\n“What…I mean…What did you?…” I started to ask, but I couldn’t form any sentences.", "“Last night? What happened last night? I killed him! That’s what happened! I took his soul and I destroyed it.” he became frantic at this point. Looking up towards the door to my room. “We have to leave, it’s not safe here anymore.” He stood up and put his hand out to me. I flinched away from him. “I wont hurt you.” he said. “You have to trust me, we need to go, I’m still me.”", "It took me a second, but I got up and followed him. He led me outside and stopped right outside the door. Our car was parked right on the street right out in front of the house, but there were three figures before us. One was leaning up against the car and the other two were standing straight up. They were all in long black coats with hoods. The one who was leaning on the car stood up and removed his hood.", "It was Jacob. “Brother, you know what has to happen now.” he said and looked to me. Instinctively I turned away from him, not letting his eyes meet mine, knowing what it would do.", "Alex put his arm out to his side in front of me protectively. “No.” was all he said.", "“He obviously knows too much.” said one of the figures to the side, a man.", "“He gives it away with his mind.” said the other, a woman.", "Alex screamed and threw both of his arms out at this point, a wall of blue light going to either side. He the brought his hands together and the walls met and an explosion of light hit in the center, sending the three others flying outward and to the ground. I felt my body lift up as Alex carried me with unseen force to the car. As he led me there he said, “You have to get out of here, just keep going until you can’t go any farther. Wait for me to contact you and tell you where to go next. I’ll see you again, I promise.” His voice was now prominently that double voice.", "The car door opened by itself and the car started. I was sent into the car. I looked out to see Alex for what I thought was the last time, his face was that horrible voice of the Ojos Blancos, as he later told me they were called. His eyes were crying so much blood, and they were sad and pleading, not angry like the night before.", "“GOOO!” he yelled in that double voice as he put his arms out again to form a shining blue shield around the car, and I sped away.", "I’m sitting in my fifth hotel room now, typing this out for you, to warn you all. I’ve seen Alex twice since that day. He has explained all about the Ojos Blancos. They spend their days hunting, and preying on humans. They devour souls in order to stay young. They live among us everywhere, they could be anywhere. I wont look people in the eyes anymore, and I suggest you do the same. Alex had been one of the few that had been born with pity for humanity, and refused to eat their souls, at least, until that night. They protect me now, but I’m always on the run, always watching my back.", "I’ll be leaving here soon. Just, watch out for them, and don’t look into anyone’s eyes, or you may never look away.", "Credit To – Carsonomel", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Molow	https://www.creepypasta.com/molow/	6.53	April 8, 2013	298	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "I was only nineteen years old – prime of my life I’ve been told – and I had just been thrust into the world of learning labeled college. All sorts of new experiences and new ideas, books and articles, beer and women. The typical undergraduate lifestyle had consumed me and I was enjoying every minute of it. Within the stacks of our library were thousands upon thousands of dusty stagnant books, many of which would have no problem clearing a college bouncer with their last checkout dates, and I adopted the odd habit of checking these decrement books out. Partly for the thrill of the unknown, but mostly I was enthralled by the idea of soaking my mind in the text of forgotten souls, people who at one time were as full of life as I currently was and I set out to bring them back to life.", "On this particular day I had just completed perhaps my best theology midterm of all time, answering questions I knew and writing in the inspired way I credit to those dark hidden stacks. I had just completed Hemingway’s Old Man and the Sea the day before and despite being inspired to read it again, decided on a short anonymous book in between. I flipped on the row light and the faded colors soaked in the old friend. Typically I just follow my intuition and start looking for an interesting title in what ever column it leads me to. Today was no different than any other and I began my search, scanning the tattooed spines for anything that caught my attention, and it didn’t take long. The Demon’s Apple written by Lucille Molow.", "I fell asleep on page twenty, not an uncommon occurrence in light of my sleep patterns, and it didn’t take long for the rem sleep to rev up…", "I found myself on a tropical beach populated by a tourist town located at the base of a peninsula a few minutes hike from me, and from this spot up past me and continuing along the shore were cabin houses that are found on the lake shores of Minnesota. Certainly the pine trees were out of place alongside the creamy white sand of the beach, but it was a dream after all. After some wallowing in the waves that washed a pleasant feeling upon my unconscious body I found myself peering out the window of a tree house. It was located on the same slope that I had witnessed from the beach, in the yard of the same cabin that I now accepted as my own. I could see not only the ocean and one side of my house, but also the neighbors yard carpeted with a thick bed of pine needles . At the fence closest to me stood a little blonde girl. She was wearing a pink sun dress with yellow flowers and wore matching bows in her hair. I understood she wanted to play, and I accepted her request.", "Her unmenacing head popped up through the trapdoor, and we continued to play, what it was we were playing I cannot remember. I was filled a childish emotion, blissful and ignorant, a great feeling. Soon she was gone and I was left walking the streets of the same city on the same peninsula looking for a good beer. I sit down and am approached by a nun wearing the full gown and hat, and she sits down opposite me at the table.", "“You have been chosen.” The young sister said, her eyes staring gravely into my own. She had a sound of music feel about her, except one of the more solemn nuns in the movie who don’t sing from mountain tops.\n“What do you mean?” I thought back to her, as you do in dreams.\n“You’ve met a little girl today.” She said with an inquiring tone.\n“Yes but what of it, we just played in my tree house.” I responded swigging my beer.\n“I know that little girl and have been following her ever since she was my own child in the orphanage. Tell me, did she have on a pink dress with yellow flowers?”\n“In fact she did, and matching bows.”\n“She always does. Let me tell you what lurks within the body of that little girl. It is not a thing of the earth you know, rather it dwells beyond and under, in the realm of consciousness that humans only skip the top of when dreaming. Some might call it a demon, others may call it simply a bad spirit. Since the beginning of time it has lurked, an anti-angel spawned from the bosom of the universe, striving towards its own selfish domination of any and every. Now, the shell of the little girl has chosen you.” This is easily enough to raise the alertness of any mind, and I quickly deduced the situation for what it was, a nightmare. Whether or not this realization is common place among people I do not know, but for me it became so, and I had learned in my dreams to awaken myself from any situation I was not thoroughly enjoying (unfortunately this often led to premature extraction from dreams I was enjoying because I could not yet fully control the urge to wake up when I realized I was dreaming). Anyway, I awoke on the same couch I had fallen asleep on to the sound of footsteps on the porch outside. I was still extremely drowsy and had to force my legs onto the floor, and use both arms and all of my strength to drag myself to the door.", "I could only see out of one eye clearly, and with this hindered aim I reach for the doorknob several times before acquiring it within my grasp. I swung open the door and a rush of familiar faces flooded through. Each enthusiastically greeting my and thanking me for throwing such a great party. It was still light outside and I could see the line of people extending to the street. Before long the door was shut and I had recovered from my rebooting period. I strolled to the kitchen to fill up my glass, admiring my own party throwing abilities as I squeezed past old friend after old friend. The horror struck me again with my first step into the kitchen.", "“Hi I’m Molow,” said the most adorable blonde girl I had ever seen, especially in her pink sundress with yellow flowers. I fled, all the while straining to open my eyes. After what seemed like a lifetime of impending doom I awoke on the same couch again. I had the same drowsy feeling and thought to myself, “I need to write down this name Molow for research purpose when my laptop is charged.” Once again being unable to initially walk I just rolled off the couch and carved Molow into the floor. Being as exhausted as I was I allowed myself to fall back asleep, assuming that after being awake for long enough my dream had been reset to the beach again, and I longed for those pleasant waves to wash over my soul. I found myself inside of my cabin this time, gazing out the picture window overlooking the beach and the sea. Even for a long time in dream minutes I stood there watching the birds fly through the quartz air and diving to the rippled surface every now and then. The waves patted the fluffy white beach and I was joined by a little blonde girl standing by my side.", "“Why hello,” I thought to her, “Beautiful spot. Your family is very lucky.” I had accepted her as the daughter of my parents friends, I had no reason to be alarmed because we had spent the whole weekend with our families together.", "“Come play!” she cheerfully said, and I followed her outside onto the porch and eagerly onto the roof of my cabin for what was sure to be an exciting game. I stood on the peak overlooking the ocean, three floors down to a steep slope inhabited with rocks and pine needles blanketing the area that wasn’t tree trunks. Standing nest to one of these tree trunks, gravely leering at me on my pinnacle, was the nun. The horror hit me again and I looked behind me at the little girl, with a cheerful grin hanging by its corners from two burning eyes.", "“Molow comes from an ancient universal word for trickery,” she told me, and I wholly believed her.\n“It is only a dream,” I thought, desperately trying to wake up and recover in the safety of my physical couch in my physical world.\n“If I jump will I fall?” I asked.", "“You certainly would, but does it matter at all?” These words rang in my ears as the most eloquent poetry ever written. I turned to face the drop and decided that the only sure way to wake up was to jump. I had done it before in dreams, yes the impact of the ground is nerve rattling, but it is a sure bet to wrench open your eyes and send your heart racing. It’s because of experiences like these that I never believed the old wive’s tale that if you die in a dream you die in real life. I tell you no lie when I say I have died a plentiful number of times in dreams, between being stabbed in the face, getting ripped apart by a machine gun, and numerous falling instances I have become somewhat unafraid of it. Although the impact of the fatal blow is always bone splintering. Not in a painful sort of way, but more in a vibrating sort of way, like your brain is being shook so rapidly that a pressure builds up in a soda can.", "I jumped, in full dread of my soda can finally bursting on this impact, but finally escaping the terror of her matching bows. I bounced off several tree limbs, and died on my impact with a rock. As usual my internal organs were squeezed to almost their limit, and for several seconds I hung in limbo not knowing if I would ever feel the comfort of breath again. To my relief I awoke, and after taking a few seconds to calm myself down I scanned my environment. This was certainly no dust-ridden couch in a scum-ridden college house, but rather the basement of a church with rows of desks all occupied by children, me included.", "I got out of my chair, but my actions were not my own. I heard the nun teacher politely ask me to return to my desk and finish my theology midterm. I watched myself as I disobeyed her orders and diligently walked to the front of the room where she was standing.", "“Molow, return to thou seat now or I will use thy ruler upon thee rump!”", "I watched myself, matching bows and all, continue on my firm course, and slit the nun’s throat.", "Credit To – Joe", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Burnout	https://www.creepypasta.com/burnout/	7.88	April 7, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Harold had never been what most would call a responsible or reliable man. He meant well, he just made bad decisions. Between whiskey and poor choices in women, he had burned the first thirty years of his life away. But it all probably seemed like a good idea at the time. After his thirtieth birthday came and went with the realization that he was going nowhere, Harold decided to take a fourth or fifth stab at getting his life together, and applied for an open position as a security guard. Security was something he had been doing off and on, interspersed with a smattering of menial temp jobs, ever since he failed to graduate from the local technical college. Harold was always a large man, with a torso the general size and shape of an oil drum. He also took orders well, had a high school diploma, was not visibly on drugs, and the company had uniforms that fit him in the back room; Securiqual Guard Services therefore immediately recognized him as exceeding all of their wildest dreams, and hired him on the spot.", "Details on what exactly Harold would be guarding were scant, which was par for the course in the private security world. His manager shook his hand, wrote down the street address, and told him when to be there to receive his mandatory eight hours of training.", "Finding the job site was tricky. The address was downtown, which was always a strange and confusing place for Harold, so he left twenty minutes ahead of how long it should have taken him to get there. Despite that, he was still almost five minutes late, because he forgot how difficult it is to find a parking spot downtown. Street spots all required quarters, of which he had none. And parking decks, to a sheltered suburbanite such as himself, seemed to be sprawling labyrinths full of wrong paths and too-narrow tunnels where the slightest misstep meant potential death-by-SUV. In the end he chose the least cyclopean horror of a parking deck he could find, and started walking toward what he believed to be roughly the direction of the building address.", "At 9:04am, not quite five minutes late for his first day, he found the right place. There was a seven foot tall chain-link fence framing the building’s perimeter, with a sliding iron gate serving as its only point of entry or egress. The gate stood open, revealing two unremarkable wooden doors set into the center of a ruddy one-story brick building. The building seemed perhaps as old as he – neither antiquated nor modern, but nestled neatly between the two.", "The doors led him into a lobby roughly the size of a doctor’s waiting area, and adorned similarly. There was a room with a few computers and video monitors jutting awkwardly out from the wall to his left, almost as if the room had been built as an afterthought. There were some tacky red and orange couches in the center of the lobby that looked like they could have been from the disco era, and a receptionist’s desk sitting just off to the side of a steel door. Other than four rather impressive brick columns which rose up to the ceiling at the compass points of the lobby, there was little else.", "Except, of course, for the receptionist. When Harold saw the woman sitting behind the receptionist’s desk, he felt that strange lurching feeling in his chest which people usually refer to as their ‘heart skipping a beat’. He thought she was perhaps a few years his junior, were it possible to estimate the age of a goddess. Her auburn hair was tied back into a ponytail which had come forward to drape over the front of a shapely shoulder. He remembered a painting that he had to write an essay on for his Art Appreciation class, back in community college. The painting was of this beautiful woman, demurely censoring herself for the audience, standing in a giant clam shell surrounded by some floaty cherub-looking things. He didn’t mind writing the paper, because he thought the woman in that painting was absolutely gorgeous. The form and curvature of her body just seemed somehow so perfect, so undeniably right. Femininity personified. He had never seen any woman who resembled the one in that painting, until today. Botticelli’s Aphrodite was real, and she was filling out paperwork at a downtown lobby desk, ten feet in front of him.", "Harold had moved past silent awe and progressed toward awkward fumbling for a conversation starter when she raised her almond-brown eyes up to his bewildered blue ones and cheerfully greeted him. “Good morning! You must be Harold. They told me you’d be coming. I’m Rebecca, but you can call me Becky.” She smiled brightly and jerked a thumb at the steel door beside her. “The night shift guy is inside doing his rounds, he should be back soon. Take a load off, hmm?” She gestured at the hideous but seemingly comfortable furniture, and then returned her attention to the papers on her desk.", "Harold was extremely pleased about the suave grace with which he navigated that conversation. Smiling pleasantly and keeping your damn fool mouth shut, he reasoned, was an ingenious approach to wooing the ladies. He sat and waited for the arrival of the guard who would be training him, and occupied himself by trying not to stare too overtly at the angel in the powder blue angora sweater.", "Harold stood upon hearing footsteps in the hallway beyond the steel door. A balding man who appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, wearing the same uniform Harold now wore, entered and hastily extended his hand with a pleasant grin. The two shook hands, and exchanged introductions.", "“Name’s Matt Gordon, and it’s damn good to meetcha. Me and James, the afternoon guy, we been splittin’ twelves ever since that last fella quit. You get to be our age, sixty plus hour weeks in this stinkhole makes a body count the days until he can draw social security. Let’s go on now and show you the ropes, since they damn sure ain’t gonna pay for a nickel more than eight hours of training.”", "Harold let his new co-worker lead him into the long hallway through the steel door, giving Rebecca – no, Becky – the most charming smile he could muster. Before she disappeared from sight, he caught her smiling back, but averting her eyes and biting her lower lip coquettishly while doing so. Damn, he thought happily, she’s good.", "The hallway ended at another steel door approximately fifty feet down. “This is what they call the fire corridor;” Matt explained, “It’s where us and anyone else in the lobby would go if there’s a tornado, and what would keep the lobby area safe in case of a fire in the warehouse.” Matt shrugged. “Of course these days, there’s hardly any need for it, as you can see.”", "Matt pushed open the door at the end of the hallway, revealing an open-area warehouse that stretched about fifty yards in all directions away from the door. The only sounds were some banal chatter and the faint hum of equipment running. The place was immaculate, and it quickly became apparent why: He looked around to see that there were merely a handful of employees throughout the entire facility. None of them paid Harold or Matt any attention, merely went about their various tasks at hand.", "Matt gestured around him, and chuckled. “Hardly worth twenty-four hour guards on duty, but they pay us for it. Don’t look a Trojan horse in the mouth or whatever, y’know?” Harold considered correcting him, instead decided it didn’t matter and let the old man ramble. “Basically they want us to walk every inch of this place twice per shift, and log anything unusual on our reports. We’re keeping an eye out for anyone trying to take any of this junk metal they got laying around. Junk metal’s worth a few bucks, and the junkers don’t mind hopping the fence and sneaking back out without anyone noticing. But folks like that; they’re high as kites more often than not, and they’ll scatter if they see anyone with a tin badge comin’. We’re more concerned about scrappers who come to cut copper wire. That shit’s worth more than you might imagine, and the ones who come for that are usually sober enough to tell rental cops from the genuine article. And scrappers come armed. So if you see something like that, call the cops. Don’t be a hero. The people who own this heap are trying to sell it and everything left within, but that don’t mean we get paid extra to bleed for ‘em.”", "Harold nodded assent, and let Matt continue in front of him – the world’s most cynical tour guide at the most boring tourist attraction in the history of mankind. Harold noticed that the few workers occupying the building were all women sitting at sewing machines, quietly going about their work. None of them appeared to be younger than sixty. He interrupted Matt while he was talking about what Harold thought was some stupid diatribe about a guy getting fired for stampeding cattle. He sounded mad, whatever it was. Honestly, Harold had completely tuned out long ago. Thoughts of the receptionist were distracting him, and they were far from unwelcome intruders.", "“So what goes on here, anyway?”", "Matt chuckled, didn’t mind being interrupted. He seemed like the kind of guy who enjoyed talking, regardless of the subject.", "“These days, not much of anything goes on, as you can see. But it used to be one of the largest textile manufacturing centers on the east coast. Two hundred or so workers, mostly women, would sew all sorts of things: Pillow cases, sheets, blankets, curtains. This place got a lot of women into the workforce, which back then wasn’t such a popular idea. These were good American jobs.” Matt snorted after that last part. “Guess you can figure for yourself what happened to that.” Harold was afraid that Matt was about to break into some long-winded patriotic chest-thumping speech – he seemed the type – but surprisingly he let the subject drop.", "They were back at the steel door now, and Matt led him through it once more. Their footfalls echoed down the corridor and Harold felt his heart race and his breath get short at the thought of seeing Rebecca again. When they came through the door leading to the hallway, she was turned away, filing her nails. At the sound of the door opening, she slowly spun her chair around. Matt had already passed her and continued on toward the room set into the wall. Harold, however, had to stop. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he just smiled and waved. She grinned and flicked her newly-manicured hand at him in a playful “shoo” gesture. Matt turned and sighed theatrically.", "“C’mon kid, quit woolgathering and let me show you the brains of this whole operation.”", "Harold complied, reluctantly. As it turned out, “the brains of the operation” was exactly what Harold imagined it would be: A drab, filthy room – the one jutting out from the lobby wall – about the size of a walk-in closet. There were black and white television monitors mounted to the tops of the walls around the room, showing the various cameras throughout the building. The monitors were angled downward for easy viewing while reclining in one hideous orange-upholstered chair. There was just enough room for either one small man to sit and one small man to stand, or one large man to sit and one large man to stick his head in from outside of the doorway. The latter, unfortunately for Harold, was their current situation. With the exception of one more building round, he spent the next seven and a half hours leaning into the control room from its door frame. That is, of course, when he wasn’t finding reasons to smile at Rebecca.", "His feet hurt, the pay was a quarter above minimum wage, the drive was a pain in the ass, his uniform was itchy and too tight around the shoulders, and his co-workers were talkative idiots. This was the worst job he could ever imagine. He would be spending most of his day sitting ten feet away from the most beautiful woman in the world. This was the best job he could ever imagine.", "The rest of the week was undeniably the happiest time of Harold’s life. Mostly it was just him and Rebecca in the lobby, and he would always hurry through his building rounds to get back to her. They talked about their lives, their hopes (mostly hers), their regrets (mostly his), anything and everything to get to know each other better. By the third day she was joining Harold on his building rounds, so they could keep their conversations going even then. The handful of warehouse workers minded their own business. If they disapproved of the guard and the receptionist patrolling together, no one complained. Harold was aware that it was unprofessional, but could not in his wildest dreams imagine a world in which he cared less about anything than that.", "On their fourth day together, when they had made it approximately halfway through Harold’s first building round, Rebecca stopped and gently reached up to squeeze his left arm. It was the first intimate physical contact between them, and it sent an unexpected tingle shooting up from where her hand gripped him. He felt his heart race and his breath catch. He turned toward her with what he prayed was a casual smile, trying to pretend he was a young Burt Reynolds and all of this pleasant arm groping was just a regular Thursday for him. When Harold saw her face, he had to struggle even harder to maintain his composure. No woman had ever looked at him the way she was at this moment. It was a curious mixture of worry and longing; and for him, perhaps, but he tried not to get his hopes up. Rebecca leaned in and tilted her head towards his, not quite whispering but taking on a low, conspiratorial tone.", "“Harold, would you like to… go out with me?”", "Grinning like an idiot, he whispered, “Are you really asking me on a date?”", "She laughed melodiously, warming Harold to his very core. Her hand left his arm and punched him playfully on the chest. “You know darn well what I mean, Harold. Us. We. Go out. Can we get out of here together, sometime?”", "Harold loved his father, and tried his best to make him proud. His father was a man of many sayings, most of them clever guidelines by which to live along what he called ‘the straight and narrow’. Harold was never very good at following the straight and narrow, but there was one saying which had always stuck: “Don’t shit where you eat.”", "Sorry dad, he thought, but I’m pretty sure this is fate. Harold reached out and took Rebecca’s hands in his, nodding eagerly.", "“I would like that more than anything in the world,” he said.", "“So… maybe we can go out later today?” She stepped closer, and he caught an intoxicating whiff of her perfume. He was hardly an expert on the subject, but it smelled like jasmine and vanilla.", "“Absolutely, getting out of this place with you sounds lovely.”", "She squealed eagerly at his reply, and hopped up and down, her sensible heels clacking on the warehouse floor when she returned to ground.", "“Harold! You, sir, are the cat’s pajamas! I have to go tell all my girlfriends! They told me you would say yes.”", "Rebecca reached up, gave him another playful punch to the chest, and issued that same laugh once again. Something of the melody in her laughter made his heart flutter. She darted off toward the lobby area; giggling and whispering to the old seamstresses as she passed. Harold was left flushed and bewildered, but far from complaining. He suddenly became self-aware, and jerked his head around to see if anyone had been watching their little exchange, but there was no one. Breathing a sigh of relief and tingling all over, he hurriedly set about finishing his round. He very much wanted to be back in that lobby, making small talk and making plans.", "Rounding the corner of the building which marked his near return to the entrance, something flashed at the periphery of his vision, a yellowish-orange burst of light. Harold spun toward it, and saw one of the sewing machine operators about twenty feet from him. She was a heavyset lady of perhaps eighty years, wearing a white pantsuit. An outlet between her feet had been overloaded, and was sparking wildly in all directions. Around her ankles, the sparks were causing the hem of her pants began to sizzle and curl inward and upward with steadily accelerating rapidity. Harold breathed an obscenity as he watched the woman bend forward as far as she could and start flailing stupidly at her thighs, nowhere near low enough to beat at the flames – though he saw with mounting horror that this wouldn’t be the case for very long. He ran toward her and slid down to try to stop the fire from spreading any further upward, but could tell almost immediately that this had progressed to the point where he would need an extinguisher. Worst of all was that the old lady seemed to be going into shock; either that or she had some kind of dementia. She had ceased even the most feeble efforts to help him put out the fire, instead just stood there staring down at him. Harold scrambled to his feet, and grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher. He pulled the pin, aimed, and squeezed the handle.", "A puff of carbon dioxide roughly the size of Harold’s head emerged, and promptly fizzled out after having traveled no more than a foot toward the elderly woman whose waistband was now being licked by orange and red flames. It was then he noticed they had gathered no onlookers. At first he assumed everyone was just paralyzed by the rapidly devolving situation, but after the fire extinguisher failed he desperately looked around and realized that everyone was merely going about their day. A surreal sense of his impotence in the face of doom sank in on him like a storm cloud as he watched their apathetic meanderings about the warehouse.", "“Hey! Someone help us! Christ’s sake, she’s burning alive!” Harold yelled at the top of his lungs and far more shrilly than he intended, now running full-tilt to the next nearest extinguisher. The ladies nearby continued to sew, some making casual conversation with each other. He only then realized that something had begun to go horribly wrong, and that this was a trend likely to continue for the foreseeable future. This time he checked the pressure gauge before running back to the burning woman. The needle informed him that the extinguisher was, of course, completely empty. The noise he made at this discovery was a species of scream-grunt hybrid, and the dull clang of the extinguisher as he dropped it to the ground.", "Harold spun back toward the woman he was increasingly sure would escape this incident with no less than third degree burns, and stood there slack-jawed and frozen at what had transpired in the ten seconds it took him to locate and inspect the second fire extinguisher: The woman was nowhere to be seen.", "Not that she had vanished, just that locating her now seemed moot. She was doubtless trapped somewhere within the conflagration which had spread with such horrendous rapidity that it now enveloped the entire southern end of the warehouse. Harold felt his eyebrows and the tips of every exposed hair on his body begin to blacken and curl. His eyes, wide with disbelief, stung from the sudden and unexpected heat as he watched the dreadful scene unfold.", "The fire was voracious in its hunger, mercilessly efficient in its task, and swept through the warehouse with a sort of chaotic precision. Its tendrils would whip and whirl in response to no discernible stimuli, only to unerringly land upon and subsequently consume its next target. Those workers who had not already become its kindling continued about their day, oblivious. Harold, having done what he felt was his duty and then some, turned and ran for the fire corridor.", "Harold flung the door open, the flames now closing in near enough for the steel handle to burn his hands as he bolted through the threshold and down the hall. He barreled through the second steel door, slammed it shut behind him, and sucked in deep draughts of fresh air. His lungs felt like they had been cooked to at least medium-rare. He had done his best; now it was time to get Rebecca to call the fire department, and for them to get the hell out of that inferno before the flames could consume them. Hands on his knees and still gasping, he turned toward the receptionist’s desk.", "No Rebecca.", "Harold panicked for a moment, then realized that she had probably either seen the fire or heard him screaming about the fire and done what any sensible person would have done: Call the authorities and then run outside. He turned and ran toward the doors, grabbing hold of both handles and flinging them open simultaneously.", "Harold screamed. And screamed. And when he screamed, he backed away. And when he backed away, she stepped forward. By whatever infernal mechanism this nightmare made manifest was powered, she stepped forward. And when she stepped forward, he fell backward against the door frame. She raised her visceral visage over and past Harold, toward the fire corridor, and she spoke. This affront to sanity summoned Rebecca’s voice and gleefully issued a guttural imperative.", "“Out!”", "From behind he heard the steel lobby door flung open against its frame, and the gibbering cacophony of a dozen shambling horrors. He could smell the sickly sour stench of charred, rotting flesh inexorably approaching from that direction. He did not turn to witness their approach, or attempt to rise to his feet. He merely stared straight ahead, gawking hopelessly at the putrid, charnel creature he could not allow himself to accept as his beloved Rebecca.", "She descended upon him, placing her cadaverous hands upon his chest and arm.", "She whispered her thanks, and pressed what the grave had preserved of her lips against his. His mouth was sealed by hers, so with his last breath he inhaled deeply through his nose. He died with a smile on his lips, for her scent was jasmine and vanilla.", "—-", "Lieutenant Hanes sat down on the charred remains of what had once been a hideous orange couch, scribbling notes while a few of his officers poked around some blackened brick columns and attempted to look busy while the county coroner bagged up the body behind them. Across from the Lieutenant sat a security guard, the first of several interviews he would have to conduct today.", "“So, Mr. Gordon, please elaborate on what you told the dispatcher when you phoned this in.”", "Matt shrugged. “Nothin’ much more to tell, really. Walked in, saw him sittin’ right there, leaning against the front door. I thought he might’ve fallen asleep, but part of me knew better. The kid had been doin’ a good job, by all accounts. My boss had me check the footage after his first day by himself. Y’know, to make sure he was doin’ the rounds and whatnot, not boozin’ it up or getting stoned or nothin’ like that.”", "“And was he?”", "“Booze or drugs, naw. Not sleepin’, neither. Doin’ the rounds? Oh hell yeah, like clockwork. Like I said, kid was doin’ a good job. Seemed to walk around talking to himself an awful lot, but eh. This job gets lonely, I get it.”", "Lieutenant Hanes sighed and flipped his field journal shut. Much as he wanted to live up to the pomp and circumstance expected of him, this seemed like a fairly open and shut case. The county coroner suspected it had been a cardiac event, and there was no reason to believe otherwise. He stood.", "“Just one more question, Mr. Gordon: Why the hell do they have you guys guarding the bones of an abandoned warehouse that burned down two years ago?”", "Matt Gordon explained to Lieutenant Hanes about the junk metal and copper wire, the junkers and the scrappers, and the way things used to be before the fire. He went on to explain that while the fire that tore through the warehouse was blamed for killing a dozen of the women who worked there, including the most gorgeous secretary that Matt had ever laid eyes on, it wasn’t really the fire that was to blame. He’d been there, and seen the whole sad sight. Two hundred workers, stampeding like cattle, pushing down the defenseless old women in their way and trampling them on the way out the front door. Just like with Harold, Matt never did get to finish the story – Lieutenant Hanes had to cut him off. Dispatch was frantically calling out all available units to the third fatal house fire in the past two hours.", "—", "Three down and many more to go before the slate will be clean. And the smoke that fills their scorched lungs will smell of jasmine and vanilla.", "Credit To – Dave Taylor", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
I Am the Apocalypse	https://www.creepypasta.com/i-am-the-apocalypse/	8.99	April 6, 2013	298	[ "Apocalyptic and Dystopian", "Beings and Entities", "Zombies and the Undead" ]	[ "Apocalyptic and Dystopian", "Beings and Entities", "Zombies and the Undead" ]	[ "The cold was the first thing I felt.", "Even before my eyes were open I felt a very deep chill in my core, a thousand spindles of ice sewn between my tissues. I blinked, my eyelids slowly bringing and stealing back the darkness, and with it the desire to keep them closed forever.", "I was lying face down on the floor, the tiles speckled with browned blood. I moved my arms to push myself up, but my muscles were stiff, almost too stiff to bend without breaking. I feebly pushed myself up, forcing weight upon deadened legs. I began to wonder why I felt the way I did. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there. There was the most peculiar feeling in my stomach, a sort of dissolution. Perhaps I had ingested something that knocked me out?", "Wait. Where was I? I looked around the room I was in. It was a kitchen, mostly everything in order except for the few traces of a hurried exit. The back door was open, barely bolted to the top hinge. Cabinet doors were left open, and it seemed only the food readily edible was taken. A knife set was knocked over, with a few blades missing. There was blood splattered on the floor, in which I was laying. I could see a putrid stream of it running down my shirt, but after a quick search I couldn’t find, nor feel, any wound.", "Each window I saw had the blinds drawn, and the lights turned off, as if the house’s occupants were hiding. I went into the living room, barely bending my brittle knees into an awkward walk. It was dark, but I could see the outlines of furniture well enough. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except that the front door had been barricaded with a desk. There was a bedroom towards my right, the door closed, and then a hallway near the front door. The entire house was dark, and empty.", "Except for me.", "Where was I? Whose house was this? And then, then I realized I didn’t know who I was.", "I thought and thought and thought upon it, trying to bring up some memory of a name, a friend, an activity, my face. I didn’t even have a vague image of my own face, and the feeling of facelessness was eerily disconcerting. Trying to access my convoluted memory banks, I realized I couldn’t remember anything other than the cold of waking up on that kitchen floor. I slowly became more and more sure that I had been poisoned, or perhaps had an allergic reaction. What makes one amnesic and unconscious? It had to be some sort of chemical.", "What if I lived alone? I checked for a wallet in my pocket, but found none. I tried to call out, but something was wrong with my voice, as it felt and sounded like my vocal cords were shredded. The only thing to come out was some sort of strangled noise, mixed with a phlegmatic sputter. I spat out a gob of blackish-red blood caught in my throat. I couldn’t taste it, but it looked disgusting on whoever owned the couch in front of me.", "Since no one had responded to my vocalization, I decided to leave. Going to the front door, I pulled the heavy desk aside. It was difficult, not because of the weight, but because of my limbs. My arms felt encumbered by hundreds of pounds, and the rest of my body had been struck by from sort of torpor, like it was being pulled towards a supermassive black hole in the opposite direction I tried escaping to. Trying to grip the hulking piece of furniture was difficult as my fingers wouldn’t cooperate, but the desk gave way easily, more easily than I thought it would.", "I’m not sure how long I spent trying to open the door. Time seemed different. I couldn’t tell how long a moment was, as I was completely grounded in the present. Trying to recall waking up in the kitchen was slowly becoming more difficult. After what could have been hours of failing, I orchestrated all of my fingers together into a twisting motion and opened the door. The difficulty of something seemingly simple perplexed me, but I lost interest and soon forgot about it.", "I had heard of concoctions that paralyze, but were there some that caused memory loss as well? I knew of the Haitian zombies that forgot themselves entirely and served whatever voice they heard after they resurrected, but there was no voice to command me. My experience wasn’t quite as dramatic, but someone’s blood was in that kitchen. Maybe I survived an assassination? I had been subdued on purpose, and I could still feel the results in my rigid muscles. But if amnesia was an intended side effect, what would someone stand to gain from it?", "I walked out the door, into a suburban neighborhood, trying to figure this conundrum out. The sky was overcast and gray, a constant threat of some sort of foulness to rain from the heavens. The wind was strong, blowing various trash and debris down the street. I could see black smoke on the horizon, rising up to coalesce with the dark clouds.", "Step by step, I moved the desiccated-feeling body I was in down the driveway. I didn’t see a single person, just the signs of an exodus. Front doors were broken down or left open, windows smashed, burnouts from tires throughout the street, and the strange feeling of not being alone. I could sense someone was around, I could hear their heartbeat, I could feel their warmth. I needed to find them, I needed to know what was going on. Someone would help me, I was sure.", "A too-thick saliva began to form in my mouth, a very foreign saliva. I spit, a purple slime tinged with red hitting the ground, along with something white. The purging of a toxin?", "So I began to walk. I made horrible progress, walking down the street on a pair of dead legs. I didn’t mind it, though. I was lost in a sort of mindlessness, not discontent to just be wandering. The whole time, the possibility of other people probed my brain, insisting I find them.", "Walking down a street through the eternal maze of neighborhood, I came across a dog. A big Doberman. At first, he caught my attention in an interested way. I looked at him, enthralled. But then he caught a glimpse of me, and started barking. The barking became louder and louder, and I began to grow irritated. The way the dog stared at me, fangs bared, caused my reservedness to subside. I could feel the fury cauterizing my body, crawling up my spine, making my hands shake. This animal was challenging me. My prey.", "I strode over to him, oblivious to the deep growling. The dog readied himself to pounce, and the thought of this pathetic thing posing a challenge was amusing. He jumped forward, biting into my calf, hard, hard enough to cause a crunch to sound. But I was so full of rage, so full of hatred that my whole body was numb. I threw myself upon the dog, wrapping my hands around his neck tightly. I slowly began twisting my iron grip with as much power as I could muster, and nothing in the world would stop me from breaking his neck. He managed a whimper in such a saddening manner that if I could feel sorrow, it would’ve hurt me inside. So I made it excruciating for the dog, finally breaking his neck after his head was twisted a hundred and eighty degrees. Then I picked his corpse up, slammed it into the street, and started punching in his ribcage, grinding his flesh and innards against the cement with my fists, until just the head and hind legs remained intact, connected together by a spine and fur matted with the dog’s bloody remains.", "When I was done, I asked myself what I had just done. I now felt nothing, I was calm, I was collected. My mind analyzed the situation and it deduced my anger as a fair reaction, though I had a subconscious feeling that what I had just done was sickeningly wrong.", "What if I had brain damage? I had heard a story of how a man had brain damage in a specific area, which caused him to fly into a blind fury at the smallest sleight. What if it happened to me? Enough oxygen deprivation can cause both brain damage and unconsciousness. Was I even mentally fit to be a human being anymore?", "I needed to find someone quickly.", "I continued on, eventually reaching the end of the neighborhood. Two cars were crashed into each other, and I walked up to them. One was empty, while the driver of the other car was resting his head on the steering wheel. I walked over, opening the door and lifting his head up by the hair. His forehead was caved in, pieces of skull broken off in his brain. He didn’t smell particularly good, so I picked him up and threw him into the street.", "I sat in the car, looking at it. I was sure I’d driven cars many times before, but as I sat in that seat, I couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do. I grabbed the wheel, turned it. Nothing happened. There were a ton of buttons next to the wheel, and I began pressing them. One of them made a terrible noise come on, and after forgetting which one it was, I left.", "I was on a main street. There were cars parked in the lots out front of derelict shopping centers, the occasional sign of violence streaked upon the pavement or wall in a bloody fashion. The lights of miscellaneous shops were still on, though I could see no one inside. Automated traffic lights went through their cycles, unaware that they did nothing to serve the people who weren’t there. The place was a ghost town, void of anything that might be alive.", "Then I saw someone. I was in front of a grocery store, the entrance destroyed by a flipped car. The person I saw appeared to be a man. He limped, and it seemed like every time he put weight on his right leg it would almost snap out underneath him. He was making his way into the apartment complex from the other side of the street. I tried yelling out to him, but all I could make was a groan.", "He continued on to the complex grounds, and I decided to follow him. When I passed the surrounding fence, however, I saw a group of people running up a flight of stairs into an apartment. One of them was holding a gun towards the man trying to follow, who seemed to beseech something of them by holding his arms out. From the look of it, he needed medical aid.", "And then they shot him. I immediately took cover behind the fence, peeking around the corner. The last person to go in was a woman, who made the strangest feeling rise in my chest. I took a look at her as she stared at the corpse of the man her friend had just shot. She couldn’t see me, however, and went inside.", "There was something peculiar about her. She contorted my chapped lips into a goofy semi-grin. I had a feeling like I knew her, like I needed to know her again. Perhaps she could help me sort this whole mess out. Maybe I could find out who I once was.", "But I wasn’t going to be able to approach them if they were just shooting random people. I made my way towards the grocery store. My muscles began to grow flexible, and I could move a bit more smoothly now, though the calf the dog had bitten wasn’t as strong as my uninjured one. I began to hope that whatever chemical was in my system was starting to wear off, and that there might not be permanent effects after all.", "I walked through the parking lot. The place was abandoned, though it didn’t seem voluntarily. Some of the car doors were open, some were painted red. One trunk was open, half-filled with groceries and a carton of eggs smashed upon the concrete next to it. Dozens of carts were left astray. The car that had rolled over had smashed the glass doors leading into the grocery store. It appeared the car was resting upon a few people, their blood and organs forced out of their bodies all over the cement. The wind blew. It was cold.", "I got to the dumpster behind the store, and opened it up. I grabbed a piece of cardboard, and underneath was a small child, face gnawed until it was unrecognizable. I could see the bone of the nose, though the cartilage was gone. There was an ear spat out next to his head. The lips were eaten in a particularly vicious way, exposing smashed-in teeth and purple gums. The eyes had been slurped out, leaving this eight-year-old child staring into the sky with a lifeless gaze. The skull was smashed in and the brain was served at 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. The body had pieces picked off of it in varying degrees, in some places to the muscle, in others to the bone. This was the work of something wild, something extremely voracious. The child was small enough to be an easy meal for a pack of starving dogs. There was even a news report about cases like this a few months ago. Wasn’t there? Or did it seem like something that would be on the news? Regardless.", "I reached my hand into the emptied stomach, digging up past the remains in search of wet blood. After getting some, I wrote “I’m not an enemy, don’t attack!” on the cardboard. The body gave off a foul stench, and it wasn’t the sight so much as it was the scent that deterred me. It wasn’t decomposition, but there was something definitely wrong with the corpse.", "So I left, utterly forgetting the small child. I arrived back at the opening of the apartment complex. The door the group had entered was shut tight. I waited, not sure how long it was, but completely content with passing the time doing nothing. Then I thought it would be better to see them coming before they could see me. So I took my sign and went to the cemetery across the street from the apartments, where I would be able to properly observe them.", "Night came. Everything was quiet. Not a single car passed. No one walked along the sidewalk. There wasn’t a single person out picking up fast food, visiting the grocery store or renting a movie. Orange glows on the horizon kept me company.\nAnything that a human being might once do was never to be done again.", "I lay there, silently, watching, alone in a yard full of corpses. I had the same sensation I had in the neighborhood I woke up in, that there were people around. I knew I could feel the ones in that apartment. So I waited for them.", "The only uncomfortable part was the cold. I couldn’t get warm at all. I wished my body would metabolize whatever was in me. I just wanted to feel alright again.", "I was slowly beginning to forget what exactly I needed metabolized from my body. Was it something bad? It couldn’t be, as I felt perfectly fine. I had the vague feeling that I should wait for the people who went into the house, that maybe that woman I saw could tell me what I needed out of my system.", "I spent the night next to the grave of Chris Redfield.", "Then day came. It seemed slow, but I couldn’t be sure. My mind was only conjuring up blanks when I tried accessing the last few hour’s images. The clouds stayed, like a dark harbinger hiding whatever might be bright, whatever was left that could be warm, if there was anything that could make me warm again.", "Finally, I saw them come out. A few, including the woman. I made as much haste as I could, holding up my sign, until I caught one of their eyes. It was a man, thin, gaunt, bones quite prominent, like an undead skeleton. He had a handgun, and as soon as I came into his vision he pulled it up, aiming it at me, yelling out a warning. The other two looked at me, and the woman I had seen gasped.", "I got a better look at her. She was beautiful, even angelic. Blonde hair, of a very light color. Green eyes, the color I imagine Mother Nature herself might have. I could see an aura around her, of a bright white. I saw it shoot towards me, and I was instantly soothed. My leg felt alright, my spirit was healed, my being rejuvenated. I loved her, and I’m sure I loved her even more back before, when I knew who I was.", "She looked at me, mouth agape, expression stunned. The skeleton covered in flesh took a step forward, but she stood in front of him. I held my sign out, and she read it. I could see a tear run down her face. They muttered a conversation to each other, but the man let me continue on.", "“No, how can you trust him?” The man yelled as the woman I loved started walking towards me.", "“We’re going back, right now, with or without you.” And the other two started running back up the stairs. They meant nothing to me, however, so I didn’t care.", "I dropped the sign. This woman, a complete stranger to me, yet so familiar I felt that if I lost her now I would lose my entire life. She came closer, and stopped.", "“Is that you?” She whispered.", "“Yhhuss.” I managed to articulate with difficulty. For this woman I could remember nothing about, this woman that I loved, I would do anything.", "She walked up to me. I extended my arms to embrace her, and when she fell into them I ripped her fucking throat out, the flesh in my mouth one second and swallowed in the next. She started choking on blood, trying to scream and failing, falling to the concrete. She was mute, the same way I was.", "I got down to my knees, making a fist and smashing through her ribcage to get the best-tasting organs. I broke the skin, broke bones, gripped her heart, ripped it out and started savoring it. I had no idea why I was doing any of this, as I was now a mere victim of my instincts. This drive took over my hands and jaws, this inherent rage encoded within my existence. I know knew the purpose of my existence.", "The only thing I loved right now was the way her flesh tasted, the first thing I had been able to taste in so long. It had the perfect texture, the right amount of chewiness, and the blood was a perfect compliment. I felt an elation, I felt an amazing high I had never known as I consumed her carcass. I felt a tooth get stuck in a particularly calloused piece of hand, but swallowed it anyway.", "I would regret this later, if I could still regret. If I could still regret, I might regret that after I had my fill, this woman would get up, only to suffer the same bewilderment and estrangement from reality as I had. I might regret that I was purposely going to let her reanimate, so she could do infect others. I might regret the deaths of the others she would eat. I might regret letting the corpses of children be thrown into dumpsters after her victims did their part to spread this disease. If I could still regret. If I even cared to regret.", "I might regret succumbing to the results of my twist of fate. I am now the plague-bearer, I am now the one I used to despise in horror movies.\nI am the downfall of my former race.\nI am the apocalypse.", "And then I began to feast.", "* * * * * ", "I walked down the stairs of the safe house, a volunteer to collect supplies. Ash and Leon accompanied me. We made it down the stairs and walked over to the car. All of a sudden I heard a yell from Ash, and turned. He was holding his gun up towards one of the dead–", "It wasn’t just one of the dead. It was my husband.", "The tumultuous storm of negative emotions I’d experienced these last two days had just ended. Ever since the genetic switch within humanity’s junk DNA was pulled magnetically, there was no place more like Hell than home. Each one of us was now another’s apocalypse.", "One by one, countries fell. The Northern Hemisphere was hit, then America, then our state. It was one swift sweep, like God waving his hand across the world to clean up a mess he had let grow too big. I knew it was the end. The beginning of that end started when one of the undead broke into our home and bit my husband in the back of the neck. Life became meaningless.", "Until this moment. Now he was back. Back from the dead, not completely, but close enough. My reason to stay alive was resurrected in the form of this corpse in front of me. I could see past the glaze in his eyes that he could remember me, that he had been searching for me. He stared at me, the way he used to stare before he would tell me he loved me.", "Ash stepped forward, and I quickly stepped in front of him. I read the sign my husband had made, painted in some sort of red, which said, “i m n e me) doet atak”. His spelling was never very good anyways, but this meant that he was still cognitively functioning. And even though he was a shambling corpse with a shin bone piercing through his calf, I still loved him. I tried to stop myself from crying.", "“What’re you doing?” Ash asked.", "“That’s my husband,” I told him.", "“That’s NOT your husband, he’s a corpse, a zombie hungering for your flesh. He probably walked in from the same cemetery as the other cadaver.”", "“I’m going to talk to him.”", "“No, how can you trust him?” But I had already started walking towards my husband.", "“We’re going back now, with or without you.” I heard Ash yell, and then their footsteps up the stairs. I didn’t need them, though. The only person I needed was him. The man in front of me, the one with the dilated, newly-pigmented pupils that were as ghostly as the full moon, the one with the blanched, sickly pallor, whose jaw hung slightly slack and leaked a purple fluid. He was missing one of his front teeth, but with the bloody and rotting gums he had developed, it seemed like they’d all fall out soon anyhow. He was covered in dried blood, and smelled of decomposition. But death was the final barrier, and he had broken it. Now we could be together forever.", "I stopped in front of him.", "“Is that you?” I asked.", "“Yhhuss,” he rasped, like his vocal cords had been cut with a scalpel and then sewn back in by a high school special ed student with a cleft hand.", "I walked up, he opened his arms, and he embraced me.", " * * * * *", "The cold was the first thing I felt.", "Such an overwhelming cold. I opened my eyes with difficulty. I was staring up at the sky. Massive clouds, dark and menacing, were sailing through the firmament. Lamps lit the area I was in with an orange glow, creating an eerie otherworldly sensation, as if I were in some reality that never existed until this moment.", "With as much strength as I could muster, I tried moving. My muscles were stiff, and bending them was almost impossible. I finally got up, though. I took a look around. I was in the parking lot of what looked like an apartment complex. Where was this? Where was I?", "Wait a second. Who was I? I began to try and recall something, anything from my memory. Nothing came up. I tried calling out, but the only noise I made was a strange gurgling, as if my throat were full of a liquid.", "Then I looked down. There was a corpse next to me, lying face up. I had the strangest feeling that this man was important, that I had known him. He was missing a tooth, covered in blood, and obviously killed by a bullet to the head. He gave me a very peculiar feeling, and anyone who could feel sorrow would have been saddened by this man’s condition. So I started walking away. I had an instinctive feeling that there were people nearby, though where, I wasn’t sure. But I needed to find people. They would help me, I was sure.", "Credit: Lichtjunger", "This story was submitted to Creepypasta.com by a fellow reader. To submit your own creepypasta tale for consideration and publication to this site, visit our submissions page today.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Demon of the Outback	https://www.creepypasta.com/demon-of-the-outback/	6.74	April 5, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I’ve spent a good portion of my life out in the Australian bush, enough time that there is very little left out there that can surprise or scare me. I’ve tussled with massive scrubber bulls and lived to tell the tale and I’ve even come across good sized king brown snakes and funnel web spiders that would send most city people running with their tail between their legs.", "I’ve learnt not to be so arrogant about knowing the bush now. The land has proven that it still holds many secrets, most of which aren’t meant to be known.", "It started during 2011, right at the end of the wet season. We had only just started work again seeing as flooding and dangerous conditions made most work too risky. There was enough grass and water for the cattle so it wasn’t a concern other than to worry about how much stock we lost to the flood water.", "The first thing that indicated that something was wrong was rather innocuous. We started finding dead cattle in the paddocks.", "We didn’t think much of it at the time, merely hauled the carcasses away the minute we could get to them. Young stock die all the time after all, whether it was snakes or feral dogs or even just exposure to the elements we weren’t sure. We just assumed it was nothing and continued with our jobs.", "Then a pair of horses died, along with one of the cattle dogs. A snake bite could have explained it, after all there are multiple poisonous reptiles in the outback but it was the way we found the carcasses that made us scratch our heads.", "They’d been torn apart.", "Feral dogs didn’t come near the house where we kept the dogs and horses, even those with a lot of dingo blood in their veins were wary of humans. But what else could it have been? Australia isn’t one for large land predators.", "It soon became nothing but campfire talk however as weeks passed without any more signs of the elusive predator. We were starting to get into mustering season and as such had hired a few farmhands and jackaroos to help with the cattle and didn’t have time for idle conversation.", "It was on one of these musters that the creature struck again. Not a cow or a horse this time but one of the jackaroos. He went galloping into the scrub to chase out a few stray steers and although the cattle came racing out to join the mob that was starting to form he and his horse didn’t.", "We searched for him but never found any sign of him. People were starting to grow worried about whatever it was that lurked in the darkness. We were far from civilisation with nothing but our horses and saddlebags on us.", "We heard the feral dogs howling that night. There were a fair few on the station, most with a strain of dingo in them. Pure dingoes were rare now on the mainland but all of us slept with a gun in our hands. We doubted it was a dingo that was causing all the trouble but what else could it have been?", "One of the men with us seemed extremely anxious. He was aboriginal in origin and had been raised on the native folklore of bunyips and demon dingoes which he relayed to us over the fire. We laughed it off of course; native stories have always been treated that way unfortunately.", "Either way he wanted us to head straight back to the house which was still a few days travel from us.", "The following day was silent. We remarked on it as we rode for such silence was unusual in the bush. There were always cockatoos and other birds causing a ruckus along with a multitude of insects. Lizards would sunbathe on red rocks and skitter away when disturbed. There was nothing at that moment, the land appeared dead.", "The horse and cattle seemed skittish, tossing their heads as the whites of their eyes showed. One large bull took off from the mob, racing into the undergrowth with a bellow.", "As I was the one closest to it I was the one who had to take off after it. I moved warily, not scared of the predator who seemed to be stalking us but of the bull itself. They were dangerous when cornered after all.", "I wasn’t the only one after the bull I soon learned as a dingo raced free from the undergrowth and bowled into the bovine. I’d never even seen a pack of feral dogs take down a bull in the prime of its life but here was a single canid doing so without any trouble.", "It was obviously a dingo; no dog could ever come close to having the same presence as the rust coloured wild dog that was native to Australia. It was massive though, more than twice the size of a normal dingo.", "And its eyes… it looked up when the bull fell limp, eyes the red of the desert sand and burning with the strength of a flame. Its teeth were bloodied as it bared them at me, stalking forward with its tail raised.", "I was frozen, staring at the monstrous dingo in shock. Thankfully my horse was less so and with a panicked whinny my mount turned and galloped as if demons were at its heels. I could hear the dingo snarling behind me but didn’t glance back until I was free from the scrub and at risk of out pacing the men I worked with.", "The scrub was still, as dead as a grave. Whatever that thing (for it can’t have been a dingo, no dingo looked like that thing had) had given up the chase.", "I never spoke of what happened that day, no matter how many questions people plied me with. I also refused to look at the rock art on our property, the ochre pigments worn with age. The yellow was faded but the shape was still distinguishable. It appeared that it had been wrong of me to ignore the native tales.", "The rocks proved that with an age old painting of a massive dingo with ruby eyes.", "Credit To – Cassandra Wolfe", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Things Without Feelings	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-things-without-feelings/	7.55	April 4, 2013	298	[ "Strange and Unexplained", "Television and Lost Episodes" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained", "Television and Lost Episodes" ]	[ "It’s odd the things we remember sometimes. I was walking down the toy aisle a couple days ago, looking for something to give my two (soon to be three) year old niece for her birthday. Everything was brightly colored and cheerful, starting with a turtle with a head that bobbed up and down when you pulled his tail and ending with what looked like a mash-up between a dragon and a fairy princess colored all in pink. And there, dead center in the middle of the aisle, was a loosely gathered bunch of Care Bear toys.", "Cloying and sweet, their eyes stared up at me, as if to say what a wonderful gift they would be for a small girl of three. I reached down and picked up the dark blue Grumpy Bear. Of all the bears he has gone through the least changes over the years. I think it’s because his mind is the strongest. He’s had no need to change his shape or form to keep his sanity.", "I put the bear back down and gazed at it. Odd thing to think. But then, it was an odd Care Bear tale I had seen too. Or maybe thought I saw, the whole thing has the quality of a fever dream to it, which is appropriate since I was sick at the time. And as I looked at the little storm cloud on his tummy I remembered.", "It was a sunny March afternoon. A temperature of 101 and vomitting had kept me home from school that day. I had passed the worst stages of my sickness earlier in the morning and I was now thoroughly enjoying myself on the couch, consuming anything the TV would throw my way. My mom had left to run some errands, so I was alone in the house. Normally I would have abused this freedom by raiding some ice cream out of the freezer. I was too tired though and still felt slightly nauseous.", "That might explain why I didn’t change the channel when the brightly colored bears came on. At nine years old, I had far passed the age where Care Bears would have been an okay thing to watch. But tired and still slightly sick, I let it play. I remember the villain was someone called Professor Coldheart. He looked like a cheap Mr. Freeze knockoff, with frozen blue skin, white hair, and a paedo stare. His whole thing was that he hated feelings… because. Honestly, he reminds me now of one of those stupid Captain Planet villains. Why did they pollute the environment? Because if they didn’t there wouldn’t be a villain to fight, duh! Maybe I’m expecting too much out of a show aimed at toddlers though.", "There was a lot of back and forth about feelings with the fuzzy little mascots going on and on about joy and caring. And, sick or not, I was getting up to change the channel because I was going to be sick if I had to hear to the word caring one more time. And then Professor Coldheart pulled out a large black book. “But they have promised me, if I call them, they will end all feelings!” Coldheart exclaimed opening the book.", "The little bears all seem confused. All except Grumpy Bear. “Care Bears, don’t let him read from that book!” he exclaimed. “Tender Heart, call for the stare!”", "A little reddish brown bear with a heart on his tummy nodded. “Care Bears, line up!” he called. But even as he did, Coldheart began to chant. I sat on the floor and watched, wide-eyed. I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. No, that’s a lie. Or rather, it’s not entirely true. He wasn’t speaking English. He wasn’t speaking any language I’ve ever heard. But my mind was forming pictures. And they weren’t happy . They involved large black masses that ate the stars and writhing and squirming things long enough to wrap around the world.", "Tender Heart faltered, with a hand to his head, and the other bears quickly followed suit. “They lie in wait for the stars,” I heard Tender Heart mutter.", "A cavernous portal opened behind Coldheart, and he giggled, a giggle full of madness and no glee. Grumpy Bear stood up and stared at it in horror. Shadowy things that flickered on the edge of vision began to appear on the screen, coming from the opening. Looking back, it was some fantastic animation, I haven’t seen its like since. The shadowy things were reaching forward for the bears. Grumpy Bear’s tummy glowed and he summoned forth several thunder clouds. He used them to set up a protective barrier for the bears, lightning arcing from them and sizzling the shadowy things as they closed in.", "It wasn’t going to be enough though, and although I would’ve been ashamed to admit, my little nine year old self was kind of scared. The shadowy things bore a very strange resemblance the things flicking through my own head now. Grumpy Bear looked from Coldheart to the Bears, and then, I swear to God, straight at me. I mean, I know he was just animated to be looking at the “camera”, but it felt like he could see me, and whoever else was watching, feel our fear. He nodded. “I have to break the connection,” he said, turning back to Coldheart. He closed his eyes and concentrated, tummy lighting up brighter than I had ever seen.", "A gigantic thunder cloud appeared above them, filling the entire building. Coldheart looked up at it in awe. Then, a gigantic lightning strike fell from the cloud. At first I thought it was going to strike Coldheart. Instead, it fell at his feet. He screeched and jumped backwards, losing his balance. And when he did, he fell backwards, into the portal behind him, still holding the black book. There was a mighty clap of thunder and the screen turned white. For a moment I wondered if we’d had a power surge that hurt the TV. After a few moments it cleared though. Grumpy Bear was going to each bear now, picking them off the floor, patting them on the back, saying a few encouraging words.", "“I can’t live with it,” a green bear with a clover on his belly said. “I saw things, so many things.”", "“Don’t worry, Good Luck,” Grumpy said, patting the bear’s back. “You won’t have to. None of you will.”", "Then it rolled to credits. I crawled back over to the couch and hauled myself back up. I was slightly disappointed. I wanted to know what Grumpy meant.", "But, I pushed it from my mind. It was just a Care Bear episode after all. I remember the first movie came out slightly afterwards, serving as a sort of reboot to the franchise. No more Coldheart and a whole bunch of different pastel colored animals to play with along with bears. I never saw the episode again and never bothered seeking it out.", "13 years later found me an English Literature class at an out of state college. It was one of those classes where everyone from freshmen to seniors could be found in it. I was in my senior year and had just needed a random class to fill out my general education block. For some reason, at the end of class, a bunch of us got to talking about shows we used to watch when were little. The subject eventually turned to the Care Bears.", "“Y’know, I saw the strangest episode when I was nine,” I said. I quickly outlined the dramatics with Coldheart and the book. Everyone stared at me like I had gone off my gourd. “Are you sure you just didn’t hallucinate it?” a guy to my right we called the Patster said.", "“Wait, he’s right!” a blonde freshman named Cally exclaimed. “But it wasn’t Coldheart, it was No Heart.”", "“Who the heck is No Heart?” I asked, turning to her.", "“He’s the main villain from the Nelvana series, the one that came after the DiC episodes. He had a black book like you said. And all the bears seemed confused except Grumpy. He was flipping out. And Noheart called all his shadowy monster things the Young Ones.” She laughed. “I don’t know how it ended. It actually scared me enough I changed the channel.” She shook her head. “It was Care Bears, though, so how bad could it have been?” She became thoughtful for a second. “It was near the end of the Nelvana run though. Might have even been the last episode.”", "“Yeah, I vote both of you are nutty than the nuthouse,” Patster said, and the group laughed in agreement.", "The conversation piqued my curiosity though. The school had some computers that were free for students to use that ran at the blazing fast dial-up speed of 56 kbps This was back in 1998, so the Internet was not the insta-answer place it is now. Hell, Google was stilled called Google Beta and I viewed it with suspicion because it was new. I ended up using Yahoo. And let me tell you, it’s not much better now than it was then. A couple hours of searching left me with no clues. I could find no mention of either Cally’s episode or mine anywhere.", "I let it lie there. There have been a couple series since then. Bears have come and gone, but Grumpy has always been there from what little I’ve seen, largely unchanged. Sometimes I wonder if there are others out there who saw strange episodes as each series finished out. Deep down– I don’t really want to know. I think if I did know I’d have to accept some facts I really don’t want to.", "Snapping out of my revere, I got ready to leave the toy aisle. I turned back one last time to look at the Bears. And then, almost on impulse, I reached down and picked up the Grumpy Bear. Perhaps I owed him that much. And perhaps there were worse things that could snuggle next to my niece as she slept.", "Credit To – Star Kindler", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Seventeen	https://www.creepypasta.com/seventeen/	9.05	April 3, 2013	298	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Edgar raised his head up from his chest; back pressed firmly into his favorite recliner, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. He stared into shadows at the edge of the living room, eyes welling with tears as he lifted the revolver slowly and deliberately to his temple. “Seventeen”, he whispered to the darkness.", "The index finger of his right hand had already found its perch on the trigger during the weapon’s ascent, during which he had hesitated no more than a second, his only concern ensuring that the angle he chose would prove fatal. He clenched his left hand into a fist at his side, steeling his will. He inhaled sharply. And with further need of neither breath nor will, he clenched his right hand.", "Darkness flashed brilliantly to light from the barrel of a .38 Special, as the gunshot’s dull thunder echoed around the room. The remains of Edgar Freeman slumped sideways in what had once been his favorite chair. The other man with him in that chamber smiled softly, the one in the shadows who had been briefly illuminated by the muzzle flare, that sallow man in the dark suit with the pale blue eyes. He smiled as everything turned gray.\nEdgar flailed his way to a sitting position, ripping the covers off the bed as he always did when waking up from that goddamned nightmare. After the fourth night in a row with the same dream, he had taken to sleeping with his bedside lamp turned on. After the sixth night in a row, his frenzy upon waking had sent it crashing to the floor – bulb broken and shade cracked by the impact. Tonight had been the eighth night, and as he recited every vulgarity he could recall into the inky darkness of his bedroom, he swore that today he’d find the time to go purchase a box of light bulbs.", "Involuntarily recalling the stranger in the dream’s inappropriately sweet smile, he reminded himself to ask the clerk for their highest wattage.\nAfter a warm shower and a few minutes collecting his thoughts on the side of the bed, Edgar set about his day. Nearly-tasteless scrambled eggs and coffee which would have been merciful if it had been tasteless comprised his breakfast, and his thoughts turned to how absurdly better Haley’s morning meal would have been. Whatever other problems they had, Haley’s cooking had been beyond reproach. He would regularly wake to the mouthwatering aroma of a nutritious breakfast which she had prepared for him – usually egg whites on a wheat English muffin with a tall glass of orange juice – at least before the morning sickness had started and kept her occupied in her prayers to the porcelean goddess for her first waking hour of every day. All this, he reminded himself bitterly, was in the past now.", "As the Vice-President of Marketing for the second largest athletic apparel company in the country (and, as he thought of himself, a reasonably attractive man) Edgar was more than used to the occasional flirting – both casual and aggressive – from young female interns and employees within his department. It came with the territory, and it was never anything he couldn’t brush off. Thoughts of either taking it further than flirtations or reporting it to Human Resources very rarely crossed his mind; the former on account of his pregnant wife, the latter on account of the ego boost it provided. One month ago, however, Edgar began an affair with a particularly buxom college intern named Samantha. Above and below the brassiere, she had been nothing special; just a warm body to quell the urges to which Haley had been unwilling or unable to tend after entering her third trimester. Even the sex was unremarkable.", "Their first rendezvous took place in a motel a few blocks away from the office, the type of place with bay windows overlooking less than scenic freeway overpasses, and even the roaches use black lights before scurrying under the unmade bed. As a cursory nod to legitimacy, the establishment stopped short of offering rates on a per-hour basis – a fact known because Edgar had inquired upon checking in.", "After that first encounter, the two grew bolder and less discerning in their indiscretions. Edgar’s office came next, and that time had been a little more satisfying – a combination of the danger and the skirt Samantha kept on at his request. But boldness turned quickly to carelessness, and Edgar was an apprentice of infidelity less than two weeks before Haley discovered his betrayal.", "Whether it was a whiff of unfamiliar perfume or a phone call from one of Edgar’s jealous rejects who had spotted the two of them around the office, his adultery with Samantha was soon the topic to which Edgar returned home from work. The accusation was on her face the minute he walked through the door. He had come home late from a particularly wild romp with Samantha, and the words from Haley’s trembling lips quickly disclosed exactly how much she knew.\nIt would have been pointless to lie – she had too many details and he too little imagination – so Edgar confessed, and made a perfunctory effort to justify his behavior. She cursed him with a severity and intensity which Edgar had never seen from her before, and in her final words to him she made it clear that she was leaving, and that she would make sure he would never in his life have a role in raising their child. Despite his heartache at the prospect of losing Haley, Edgar had spent too long in a cutthroat business to take threats passively, even from his wife. He laughed bitterly, and reminded her of the quality of the lawyers within his means. When he was done, Edgar said with words he instantly regretted but found himself powerless to silence, she would be lucky to get weekends and a few holidays with the kid.", "That was a lie and he knew it, but at the time his main objective was to get off the defensive and regain the upper hand in the fight – maybe even make Haley reconsider her choice to leave. He would happily cut some hefty checks to a marriage counselor if it saved him from the much larger ones in the form of alimony and child support. But something in the way Haley was smiling at him suggested that he had misunderstood her intentions. And as he realized far too late; if he had been more observant, he might have noticed an empty hook on their key caddy, and connected it to that sardonic grin she was wearing.", "She hadn’t left right away, like he had expected. Isn’t that always the way it works in the movies and on television? The guy comes out of the bathroom or back from the bar a little while after the fight to find the gal’s suitcases dusted off and bulging with all the expensive clothes he bought her over the course of their relationship? Her haughty and defiant, him prostrate and pleading?", "Edgar would have never played the latter role in his life, but he had fully expected the former from Haley. Instead, an hour after he walked away from their screaming match to take a much-needed shower, he stuck his head into the living room to find her sitting in his favorite chair (what a bitch) staring off into space and rubbing her (Goddamn is she ready to pop) pregnant stomach.", "As far as Edgar was concerned, that was the end of the first of presumably many arguments on the subject. He ascended the stairs quietly, and slipped into bed. The day had been long enough, and she clearly wasn’t going anywhere or she would have left already. Haley never came to bed, but neither did he hear the front door slamming behind her before he drifted off – so it seemed she had decided to stay at least for the night. All will be well, Edgar told himself as sleep overtook him. But I doubt she’s going to fix my breakfast for a few days.", "The noise which ripped him out of that deep slumber came just after five o’clock in the morning, according to his alarm clock. By the time consciousness took hold, the sound had died as quickly as it came. He stood reflexively, and scanned over the bed with eyes barely awake enough for even that simple task. Eventually determining Haley’s side to be empty, Edgar shuffled out the bedroom door and down the stairs to determine what caused the sudden clamor.", "He didn’t need to reach the bottom of the staircase, or allow his eyes further time to adjust, to know that she had decided to leave him after all. One glance into the living room cleared up any doubt on that subject. There were no bulging suitcases, or haughty looks – just an unlocked and opened gun cabinet, a crimson splatter on the wall, and a steady trickle of the same beading down the side of his favorite chair and pooling on the hardwood floor beside it.", "After a moment of shocked paralysis, Edgar lunged for the house phone in huge, desperate strides. The rapidity was not for the sake of Haley, through whose newly-ventilated skull he could clearly catch glimpses of the televised presidential debate at the far side of the room, but for her blameless passenger of seven and a half months. He gave all the pertinent information to the infuriatingly indifferent emergency control room operator, and waited in the hallway with the front door flung open wide.", "The gunshot had drawn a crowd of early-waking neighbors to the driveway in front of the Freeman residence, a phenomenon bred not out of bravery in the face of danger but from the casual ignorance of danger reserved exclusively for neighborhoods peopled by the wealthy and sheltered. They eyed him accusingly, none with less than dawning suspicion in their gaze. Edgar raged at them for this; first with harsh thoughts, then with guttural growls and impotent flailing. They would collectively step backward when his fury and frustration flowed strongest, and advance again when the yelling waned in ferocity – a human tide of slack-jawed gawkers.", "The spectacle was temporarily dissolved by the wailing siren and subsequent appearance of an Advanced Life Support ambulance, from which paramedics rapidly spawned just a few minutes after Edgar’s conversation with their dispatcher (another feature exclusive to the type of neighborhood in which Edgar and Haley Freeman resided). The crowd made way for the emergency vehicles, but soon found a new vantage point on Edgar’s lawn.\nThe paramedics discovered Edgar’s wife slumped over in his recliner, and strapped her lifeless form into a gurney. Once she was properly secured, they wheeled her rapidly out of the house and into the back of their ambulance. Edgar jumped in as well, and there was no time to either ask or answer any questions before the crew slammed the bay doors and sped off toward the county hospital.", "Between checking vital signs and attempts to keep oxygen pumping into the corpse of his wife for the sake of her unborn child, Edgar noted the cautious glances being shot his way by the Paramedics – as well as the blue flashes from multiple police vehicles following close behind the ambulance. I didn’t have anything to do with it, he wanted to say – to scream – but in the back of his mind he knew that was just a degree or two away from being precisely the truth, and so he remained silent.", "He had thought they would throw the handcuffs on him as soon as they arrived at the hospital, but instead the throng of police officers just explained they would wait with Edgar while the doctors did what they could for the baby – and maybe get some information from him if he felt up to talking. Edgar nodded assent, largely because the officers bore all the mannerisms of men who intended to get some information from him whether or not he felt up to talking.", "They stood outside the operating room, lined up in the viewing area. The officers gave Edgar his space; his face mere inches from the glass, taking occasional breaks to wipe the window off with his sleeve after frantic breaths had fogged it to the point of opacity. They questioned him hesitantly; he answered them hastily and with little regard for the words he used. His concerns were elsewhere, and he knew there was nothing he could unintentionally blurt out to incriminate himself. He watched as the surgeon made a large incision into Haley’s lower abdomen (at least she’s sedated for this, Edgar thought insanely) and set about removing the baby from her womb.", "Within a few minutes, everyone in the viewing area knew everything they needed to know. The officers knew that Haley had apparently died at her own hand (the autopsy would either confirm or deny that), that she had likely done it as a result of her husband’s infidelity, and that Edgar had seen little or no warning signs leading up to the suicide. Edgar, meanwhile, knew that the baby was alive but fading fast, that the baby was a boy (they wanted the gender to be a surprise, one of the few things on which he and Haley never disagreed), and that the baby was being placed in an incubator as a last-ditch effort to save its life.", "Edgar stood outside the room, the police now keeping an even more respectful distance as he watched his infant son die. There was little commotion about it, and little the doctors could do to prevent it. The child’s eyes opened once the entire time, and the next thing Edgar knew they were pronouncing the time of death as 5:46 AM. They just cut him out of Haley at 5:29, Edgar thought frantically. My kid – my son – was alive less than half an hour. I didn’t even have time to name him. A girl and Haley names him, a boy and I name him; that was the promise we made since we couldn’t even fucking agree on names. Edgar slammed his fist against the wall, and distantly felt his knuckles grinding. As he fell to his knees, his hand hurt far less than the scalding hot tears welling behind his eyes.", "That was two weeks ago. Today, Edgar ate nearly-tasteless scrambled eggs, and drank coffee that would have been merciful if it were tasteless. Eight nights now he lived with the nightmare of killing himself destroying any semblance of sleep. Eight nights now he lived with the man in the shadows of that nightmare smiling at his decision to do so. Light bulbs, a huge box of them, highest wattage the hardware store sells, today after work. Edgar again reminded himself of the errand as he threw on his jacket and walked out the door.", "Work went much the same as always, only with the added distraction and morbid water-cooler fodder provided by his wife’s suicide. It was annoying, more than anything.", "Edgar first became consciously aware of a man’s form standing just outside the threshold of his office’s open doorway when he glanced at the clock to determine exactly how far into the night he had been lost in paperwork. He came to work at dawn and knew it was now certainly dusk, at a minimum. The day had been typical office fare for the return of a bereaved coworker – mindless platitudes and weightless sympathy, empty words from the empty hearts of people paid just enough to pretend to care but not enough to do so convincingly. There was no telling exactly how long the man had been silently standing in the darkness of the hallway, but Edgar recollected the first vague feeling of being watched a few minutes prior. Everyone but the night shift security guard had left hours ago, giving him a welcome respite in which to concentrate and catch up on missed work. Or so he had thought, until this new interruption.", "“Hello?” Edgar hesitantly greeted the interloper, fearing the inevitable next in a long line of ham-handed jabs at emotional consolation.\n“Evening, sir.” the reply came, grating and phlegmy. His eyes still attempting to adjust to the drastic change from the brightness of his office to the hallway illuminated only by the ambient moonlight leaking in from sporadically-placed windows, Edgar judged by the unfamiliar voice that this was either a stranger – a vendor, perhaps – or a colleague with a particularly nasty cold that he’d better not be spreading around.", "“Step inside, I’ve been burning holes in my retinas under this lamp for the past two hours, I can’t see a damned thing out there.”", "“Really can’t stay,” the man intoned, practically gargling, “just passing through”.", "“Yeah, I know what you mean; it’s been quitting time for hou… have we met?” Edgar’s eyes had begun to adjust, and he grew uneasy. The stranger was still dim and blurry, but clearly wearing a dark suit of indeterminable quality. Another minute and it would be clear if this was some sort of tight-assed internal auditor from the 14th floor, or another detective sniffing around after Haley’s death. Whoever it was, the suit betrayed him for a stranger. Fridays around the office were always Casual Day, when even the senior executives wore polos and khakis. The man was showing no signs of leaving, so Edgar made his eyes’ next mission determining whether or not he had one of those idiotic access badge lanyards they all had to wear around the building.", "“I’m new. I’m a messenger. I’m here to deliver a package.”", "Edgar cocked his head, dubious. A courier in a three-piece suit? Pull the other one. No badge, either. Edgar did not reply, hoping the (Process Server? Jehovah’s Witness?) stranger would state their business and move along.", "“You work such long hours. Don’t you miss your family, sir?”", "A knot materialized in Edgar’s throat, and he sat bolt upright in his chair. After the initial shock wore off, Edgar softened his posture, quickly convincing himself of the question’s innocuous nature. A labor union representative – of course. He slipped in here to try and play on some suit’s delicate sensibilities, blather about unpaid overtime and kids tucking themselves into bed. Just trying to get us to abolish our non-unionizing clause with factory workers. “I receive fair compensation for the work that I do, as does everyone in our employ. So no, I’m fine, really. Thanks.” That should get the point across, he thought with a certain grim satisfaction.", "“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Well…” The stranger turned slightly as if to leave, paused, and leaned his head inside the office for the first time.", "“They certainly miss you.”", "The words scraped like icicles up the length of Edgar’s spine, gripping his skull with tendrils as cold as the grave. The face was gone from view as quickly as it came – the form of the man as well – but the hideous visage remained burned into Edgar’s brain, and in the recesses of his mind he was acutely aware that it would be etched there until his dying breath. The eyes were of a milky blue so pale and distant they suggested blindness, but met Edgar’s with an unerring gaze that insisted they saw him very well indeed. The rest of the face was unburdened with such signs of vitality. His skin was sallow and sickly, and even at a distance it appeared to be the texture of well-worn leather. The man’s cheeks and eye sockets were sunken, the flesh drooping loose in these places, yet drawn tight against the skull around his forehead and mouth. Gaunt and cadaverous, every feature from the greasy, matted hair, to the quivering wattle of flesh when he spoke was identical to that of the dark stranger in Edgar’s recently acquired nightmares. But everything else was peripheral to the all-encompassing terror which he felt at seeing those damned eyes. There was something unpleasantly familiar in them, something horrible which he found himself powerless to name or explain.", "Once he regained control of his frozen limbs, Edgar lunged toward the doorway where the man had stood moments prior. The elevator hadn’t dinged its arrival, and the stubborn latch on the stairwell door hadn’t let out the audible clack customary to every opening and closing. ‘He’s still somewhere on this floor’, Edgar thought frantically. The idea gave him strength, but no real clarity of purpose. He knew only that he needed to confirm that the stranger’s presence here was more than merely a result of his overtaxed mind and guilty conscience. There were no desks, no bathroom stalls, no supply closets left unsearched by the time Edgar’s frenzied investigation reached its fever pitch. Motivational posters tacked to the walls of overbearingly congenial and downright suspiciously diverse businesspeople smiling and clasping hands warmly seemed to be mocking him, silent conspirators against Edgar in his quest. “Sure we know who he is and where he went,” Edgar could imagine them saying, “but we’re too busy leveraging our synergy and engaging in value-added interfacing to dialogue on your initiative.” He dragged both hands through his hair, gripping thick handfuls of it and tugging slightly. His visitor, if something more than a delusion, had departed unseen and unheard. Edgar could feel his heart pounding wildly, seemingly slamming against the back of his ribcage. He stopped only to grab his briefcase before sprinting down the stairs to escape the increasingly oppressive emptiness of the office.", "The executive parking deck was windowless, and thus even darker than the building from which he had just departed. It was barren except for him and his Lexus, and likely had been since the security guard made their most recent tour through it hours ago – the guard having shut off all but the emergency lights on the way out. Despite that small assurance, Edgar found himself casting furtive glances over both shoulders, and quickening his pace each time they revealed a total lack of reason to do so. He had never been a superstitious man, any fear of monsters had been laid to rest long ago by the waking horrors which walk amongst men brazenly in the daylight. Student loan debt, insurance premiums, layoffs, mortgage payments – life, Edgar had learned decades ago, sports fangs and claws that make laughingstocks of those belonging to the vampires and werewolves man invented to cope with it. And yet, he scolded himself while fumbling nervously for his keys, all it takes is a little nudge from the imagination to awaken that primordial terror – to populate the uninhabited darkness with things which have no right to exist.", "He was five feet from his car and had just unlocked it with the electronic remote attached to his keys when he heard the scream. It was high-pitched, womanly, terrified, and resonated from the office area directly behind him. ‘Did Haley scream that way right before she pulled the trigger?’ Edgar thought wildly. He stopped in his tracks, turned sharply, and saw nothing. Then, as if in response to his silent inquiry, the gunshot came. Edgar snatched the cell phone from his pocket, frantically calling 911 for the second time in as many weeks. He flipped the phone open to his ear, but the operator requesting the nature of his emergency sounded a thousand miles away. The clacking, dragging footsteps coming down the corridor from the sound of the shot and toward the executive parking garage, however, sounded very close indeed. Edgar dropped the phone and practically dove into his car. His foot was on the accellerator as quickly as he could throw the vehicle into gear.", "The roads outside the office were illuminated solely by street lights and the occassional flash of a passing motorist’s headlights. The sun had vanished below the horizon hours ago – when people in khakis or sensible skirts departed on a fourteen hour break from pretending to care about each other’s children or gastrointestinal complications, and left Edgar alone with two weeks worth of backlogged paperwork. Stress, Edgar attempted to convince himself, can make you see things. Stress, he rationalized, can make you hear things. Emotional trauma. None of it took any pressure off of his mind or the gas pedal as he sped toward home.", "Upon his frantic arrival, Edgar knew something was wrong before he ever burst through the front door. He hadn’t turned any lights off since the nightmares started, much less when he expected to be out past sunset, and yet he found himself fumbling around the darkness of his hallway for the lights. When his blind groping finally brushed across the light switch, there was very little surprise in finding the knob broken off – following the day’s events, it would have been a bigger surprise if the switch had been in working order. Instinct told him to turn and flee the house, but the flashing red number ‘one’ on his answering machine called with an even greater urgency.", "Despite his hand’s anxious trembling, Edgar’s finger struck the Play button with unerring precision, a motion he had grown well-acquainted with over the past two weeks. People he hadn’t spoken to or thought about since practically before meeting Haley had seemingly not forgotten him, and had spent the interval between his wife’s death and now calling to offer their condolences. Their concern only served to compound his feelings of guilt with each message – what had he done to deserve such loyal friends? He fully anticipated another instance of the same consolation, when one of the last voices he would ever have expected emanated from the machine.", "“Edgar?” the voice’s normally chipper lilt came, tinged with an unmistakable edge of caution. “It’s Samantha. I know I shouldn’t be calling you. I’m probably the last person in the world you want to hear from right now, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for what happened.” There was a pause and what sounded like a sob. Edgar thought this was quite possibly the most real, orgasm-less emotion he had heard from Samantha since they first met. “Sorry for everything, really. I… we… we couldn’t have known how this would end. But I know I have no right to call. I’m just worried about you, is all. I laid out of work today because I heard you were coming back, and thought you didn’t deserve to have to bear seeing me on top of everything else… I could only imagine how hard it must be for you right now… and to tell the truth, I was scared to see you. Scared you might point at me every time someone asked, or something… I know, it’s stupid. And selfish. But I came by the office just now to pick up some work to take home with me, and I saw your car in the parking garage…”", "Edgar eyed the time of the message on the answering machine. She had called sometime between the end of his frantic search of the office, and before he made it to his car. Which means that she was there right about the time that…", "The voice on the machine had kept talking, and Edgar found himself now listening more intently than ever, his knuckles turning white from clenching the kitchen counter so tightly.", "“…saw your office light was on, but you aren’t anywhere around. And man… this place looks like a tornado hit it. Someone really tore through here. I thought about you right away, so that’s why I’m calling. I don’t know if this is long overdue, or if I should have just done a quick fade and found another job and never called you again, or what… I mean, what’s the appropriate thing to do here? I can never make things right, but… I’m just so sorry, Edgar. Please call me back when you get this. I miss…”\n‘Miss’ was the last word spoken by Samantha – unless one counts a bloodcurdling scream, following which came the sound that silenced whatever would have come next. The gunshot rang out like a thunderclap, and lost none of its horrible potency on the way through the phone lines to Edgar’s answering machine. The ensuing silence was deafening, and Edgar stood rigid in front of the machine, bent forward and staring at it intently – as if he expected it to begin displaying visual clues as to what had taken place. He got audio instead.", "“Miss you, yes. You are very missed, indeed.” The male voice, undeniably the same as earlier that day, gargled as it chuckled into the receiver. The machine beeped, and a solid red zero informed him that he now has no unheard messages. But to Edgar the zero represented far more than that. It seemed almost an answer to not just how many messages he had, but to every question that mattered. What, why, who, how? What’s left, what matters, what will tomorrow bring? Nothing but zero, of course. Just a big blood-red negation.", "Edgar released his death grip from the counter, and groped his way into the darkness of the living room. He passed another light switch on the way, noted with no real interest that the switch had been broken off of this one as well, then flopped down into his favorite recliner. “I have had”, Edgar whispered into the emptiness of the house that would never again be a home, “a very tough month.” The answer to his presumedly receipientless statement came in the form of a chuckle from a dark corner of the chamber. Edgar felt every muscle in his body go tense, and he lost all control of his bladder. He could not possibly have cared less about the latter, he merely stared into the darkness and waited for whatever must come next as the warmth spread across the front of his pants.", "The man in the shadows stepped forward and Edgar winced away, sinking as deep into the plush chair as he could dig himself. The stranger, simply put, had gone from looking like his flesh was preparing to free itself from its Earthly prison – to actually having accomplished the task. Edgar was staring at the face and body of a man who had begun to lose some very respectable chunks of himself. Like butter melting in a warm room, some of it actually sloughed off as he made a methodical exit from the darkness.", "“I know you’re wondering why I’m here, and why the past few weeks have seen your life seemingly spiral out of your control. At this point it comes down to fate. Fate is like playing tug-of-war with an adversary significantly stronger than you: There will always be times when you feel the rope inching your way, your heels dug in and your earnest exertions yielding the result you’ve worked so hard for, the victory you know you deserve. But even the times in which you feel the most control, the firmest ground, those are merely your opponent adjusting its grip. But this doesn’t preclude what you might call free will; the choices people make are what set fate in motion, and those are the pivotal moments.” He paused, then seemingly as an afterthought, “Like you, renting that motel room. Very few things from that moment to this one have been in your control, and none of them of any consequence. Your whore is dead now, and killed by your own gun. Her right eye looks a great deal like your answering machine, now. Just a big red zero. No new messages. By dawn, you’ll be in a cell. Your wife found out about you and the whore a few weeks ago. Maybe she took her own life, maybe you had a role in that. The whore, though… she was murdered. There’s not a jury in the world for whom your guilt is anything but a foregone conclusion.”\n“Why.” Edgar breathed the inquiry flatly, incapable of inflection. He had never felt so tired – so completely drained and hollow – in his entire life. With each word the pale stranger spoke a deep burning emanated from every muscle in Edgar’s body, and yet the frantic scurrying of his mind remained as strong as ever, desperate to place those eyes he felt he knew so well.", "“Why what? Why did you stray from the wife who once loved you? I couldn’t help you there. Not that knowing would change anything for either of us. But that isn’t the most important ‘why’ for you, is it? You want to know why this is happening to you, why I’m doing this. But for some reason you’re afraid to ask me who I am, the true question behind the ‘why’, to which I can only say that you must answer for both of us.”", "The stranger resumed his lumbering gait towards Edgar, halting and awkward as he tottered ever closer. Edgar’s mind was drawn deep inside of itself to access the half-recalled memory of something he saw years ago in a mid-dawn walk across the parking lot on his way into work. A tattered salt-and-pepper moth, deceased at the base of a light pole; a coroner’s inquest doubtless would have revealed an acute case of banging one’s self repeatedly into a domelike miniature plastic electrical sun. Then came a stiff breeze which sent the moth airborne, flapping and tumbling toward Edgar’s path through the parking lot. The breeze settled, and the moth resumed being a body perfectly at rest; as all dead things should, Edgar reckoned, unless acted upon by an outside force. An unseen force, in the case of the moth; and, Edgar again reckoned, in the case of the man now standing before him. Because in his movements, Edgar saw that moth very clearly. These were the movements of something which once lived, and was now being acted upon by an entirely different unseen force – one which could only approximate the mechanisms of the vessel it now controls. The wind had been the name of that force driving the moth back into a perversion of life, but to name the force which could do the same for a man?", "After a moment of silence which seemed to stretch for hours, Edgar met the stranger’s pale blue eyes with the last shred of courage he had. “Death?”", "Then, a little more confidently: “You’re Death.”", "The stranger laughed uproariously, his gaunt frame convulsing with the rhythm of his dry, wheezing cackles. The withered flesh of his face stretched away from blackened gums and all-too-white teeth in the most hideous approximation of a smile Edgar could have ever imagined. After his laughter subsided, the dark man spoke, wiping away tears which were not there. “You misunderstand me. It wasn’t my intention to be cryptic; I was merely requesting that you provide me with a name. This body, I’m approximating. It’s the body I might have had, had I lived to grow into it. But the eyes, they’re the windows to the soul so they say, and I had hoped you would remember mine. I forgive you though. You saw me only briefly, and under duress. But you were supposed to name me. Dying without a name was the worst part.”", "Comprehension more horrible than the bewilderment had ever been began to spawn in Edgar, as an icy, all-encompassing chill washed over him. The man clapped him gently on the shoulder, and leaned in close, placing four pounds of cold steel into Edgar’s open palm. “I told you I was a messenger, and now my task is done. Mom asked me to give you that. She says to hurry. She promises not to be too hard on you if you come home quickly.”", "Edgar quivered helplessly; his eyes had begun to water and burn, searching for any sign of consolation in those of his son. He parted his lips as if to speak, but could not find the words. His silent plea’s response came in presumably the most compassionate tone manageable by his visitor, “It’s not terrible there, it’s just…” The corpse-thing’s head cocked to the side, a very boyishly quixotic look in those pale blue eyes. “Gray. It’s gray there. Time moves much slower, if at all. They show you things. They’ve shown me all I would have known in the life which your actions denied me.” Venom in that decaying voice now, and Edgar knew that pulling the trigger himself would be the only mercy granted today.", "The visitor turned, staggering clumsily into the darkness toward the edge of the room, as Edgar sat and examined the loaded revolver. His would-be progeny had almost completely exited from sight, and spoke without any discernable emotion. “One more thing. After they cut me out, how long did I last on that incubator? She doesn’t know, but I thought you might. I tried my best to hang on, but it couldn’t have been long. Fifteen minutes? Twenty?”\nEdgar raised his head up from his chest; back pressed firmly into his favorite recliner, his entire body drenched in cold sweat. He stared into shadows at the edge of the living room, eyes welling with tears as he lifted the revolver slowly and deliberately to his temple. “Seventeen”, he whispered to the darkness.", "Credit To – Dave Taylor", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Devil’s Hole Cave	https://www.creepypasta.com/devils-hole-cave/	7.95	April 2, 2013	298	[ "Beings and Entities", "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Nathaniel H. Jackson’s Journal\nNovember 11, 1911", "I had never intended on venturing into that cave. That cave where no one ever dared to go near. I remember when I was a child how my friends and I would play around the property border. Back then, the cave was on a plot of land that belonged to my uncle. He did not let anyone trespass, not even his own family. He hated his brother (my father) and didn’t do anything with the 200 acres until he died. Naturally, all of the land was an untamed wilderness.", "When my uncle died, my parents had already been gone a long time. Being that I was the eldest in my bloodline, the property went to me. Whether my uncle wanted me to have it or not I will never know.", "With the inheritance from my father, I had a lovely estate built on the property and am in the midst of cleaning up the land. Considering I don’t need too much space, I am also in the process of selling parts of the land. I have had no trouble doing so. The property, as it turns out, is quite pleasant with a bit of grooming. The cave is the only exception.", "I cannot determine whether they are wolves or coyotes but they do pose a threat. There is also the reason I began to investigate the cave in the first place. There is some sort of creature living in the cave. While there is probably a very logical explanation for what is in there, the legend behind it goes back several decades.", "During the war, a group of Confederate soldiers marched through the territory which I own today. They found the cave and decided to camp there for the night. One man, who suffered from somnambulism, walked deep into the cavern while still asleep. He walked right up to a drop-off in the cave and fell about 200 feet. When the other men woke the next morning, they did not find their friend and went looking for him in the cave. When they came to the drop-off, they heard what they believed to be the voice of Satan himself.", "I have heard and told this scary story many times. It has never affected me the way it does now. While the wild dogs are a problem, the legend also scares off potential buyers. I thought it in my best interest to find out what is in that cave and drive it out.", "I have gathered some rope (a little more than 200 feet), some flares, an oil lamp, and my pack to carry it all in. Finally, I shall bring my father’s rifle, which I have only ever used on quails, and hope that it will be enough to protect me against any wild hounds. I will discover what exactly lurks in the cave first thing tomorrow morning.", "November 12, 1911", "It is difficult to write, for my hand is still shaking and my heart has not stopped racing. I did in fact encounter a malevolent being in the cave. I cannot say what I saw for in reality I saw nothing, but I fear I will never again be truly at peace after today’s venture.", "I had left the house this morning at around five O’ clock and had taken the automobile as close as I could get it to where the cave was. The vehicle could not drive over the brush, so I set out on foot. From there, I was only about a mile away from the cave. As I was on my way, I realized what an effort it would take to make this land attractive to buyers. Several tall, dead trees are scattered across the land and refuse to fall. Their grotesque branches cast a grim feel over the land. The grass is up to my midriff and the insects are really quite terrible. I told myself that if I did not find anything remarkable about the cave that day then I would forget about the land around it entirely.", "I made it to the cave unscathed but still annoyed at the swarm of bugs I had met on my journey. There were less bugs around the cave, which I was thankful for. It was still early in the morning but I wanted to get home as soon as possible. With relative precaution, I entered the cave.", "The mouth of the cave was a bit of a squeeze, but I am somewhat slim and was able to maneuver my way through. As I went deeper into the cave, the ground slowly changed from rough soil to hard stone and the walls grew further apart. I did not need my lamp at first, for the light of the rising sun reached deep into the cave. There were no stalactites to worry about and the roof of the cavern was about eight feet up. I was beginning to feel a little disappointed. This legendary cave did not seem to have any significance at all. There was no light in the area ahead, so I picked up a small rock and threw it. To my surprise, I did not hear it land as soon as I thought it would. Instead, I heard it impact very far away.", "My heart began to thump with excitement. I lit the oil lamp with a match and walked forward. Sure enough, just like in the old story, a steep cliff lied before me. I am not afraid of heights, but I did not want to fall into the abyss where no one would ever find me. I placed the lamp on the floor and lay myself flat on my stomach. I inched forward to get a better look at what was down there. I peeked my head over the edge to look down. It was pitch black. I would need to climb down.", "With the tools I had brought, I hammered cleats into the stone floor and fastened my rope to them. I began to descend. I held my lamp in one hand and gripped the strong chord with the other. My pack held the flares and the rifle. For about five minutes I steadily lowered myself down into the darkness. I listened for any noise from below, but there was nothing. As I delved deeper, I began to wonder how facile it would be to return to the surface.", "When the bottom of my boot touched the ground, I let out a sigh of relief. My lamp was still lit and the rope was still tethered to the surface. I looked around a good bit and walked forward. It was as though I was walking through an empty field at night. The air around me felt almost open and I could’ve sworn I felt a faint breeze. However, the ground was barren as a tile floor and the silence was quite ominous.", "My brief amazement had distracted me. I really should have used some sort of marking system. When I was finally struck with reality, I found myself lost in the nothingness. A slight panic overcame me as I looked around, unable to determine which direction I had come from. I wandered in the vacuum and the silence, feeling like a helpless toddler. It was then that I stumbled upon the notebook.", "I had felt something under my shoe and retraced my steps to find a small, leather journal. I picked it up and held it close to my lamp. The cover read one name: DANIEL RODRICK. I thumbed through a couple of pages and read one of the entries near the middle.", "June 17, 1862\nI had to see the doc today. He told me I got some namalism. I dont know what he meaned at first but he told me its just a fancy word for sleep walking. I dont need a doc to tell me I been sleep walking. I been doing it sinse I was a kid. Anywho the doc wants me to take these special pills to stay asleep. I gotta pack a whole bunch befor I leave tomorow.", "I froze after reading that entry and closed the notebook. I had just found the journal of a man who sleep walks in a cave where a similar man is said to have died. As I stood there, in the midst of the nothingness, I heard the noise that will haunt me for as long as I live.", "At that very moment, there came a low hissing sound. I have never been to the Arctic Circle, yet I felt my blood turn as cold as the ocean water that runs through it. A shiver ran down my spine and I nearly dropped the lamp from my trembling hand. Clutching the notebook and my oil lamp, I ran.", "I ran as far as I could from the noise, but it did not cease. The hissing only grew louder and louder. I was looking straight ahead as I sprinted, not daring to look behind me. I was so blinded by genuine terror that I did not see the rough stone wall as I barreled into it. The force of the impact was so great that I shattered my lamp into a thousand tiny pieces and shards of glass.", "I hit my head rather hard on the wall, but stood up immediately. Complete darkness. I put my hands to the wall and frantically walked parallel to it, moving to the right. I thought my heart would give out when I finally felt the familiar, coarse feel of my rope. I took a moment to steady myself, for I was breathing heavier than I ever had before.", "When my breathing calmed, I realized that it was completely silent once more. I let out a small laugh, unsure if it was a laugh of relief or hysteria. Still clutching the rope with my right hand, I turned and put my back against the wall. My eyes might have been just as useful closed. There was only black. I stared into the darkness, my breathing now having gone almost silent. I could’ve turned around at any moment and ascend back into sanity. However, an unknown force kept me staring into the nothingness, expecting something more…", "Something right in front of me began to hiss.", "This hissing was the most horrifyingly vile sound to ever enter my mind. Whatever was before me was large and could strike fear into death itself. How I got out of that treacherous cavern is beyond my understanding. My memory of escape is smeared by the sound of that demon. That monstrous entity should have finished me off right then and there in that cave with my back against the wall. However, I came home today knowing that that beast wanted me to live in fear for trying to exploit it.", "In the end, letting me live was the greatest torment that the monster could have bestowed upon me. It is now my curse to live with the memory of what the devil itself sounds like.", "Credit To – Nicolas MF Morton", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Slender Twilight: The “Naughty” Version	https://www.creepypasta.com/slender-twilight-the-naughty-version/	8.49	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "“What the fuck did I just read?”", "– Pretty much everyone.", "FanBoy97: Journal entry 1.)", "Oh, how no one understands the dark brooding angst stirring in my loins! I couldn’t concentrate in school again today, thoughts of Him distracted me from my composition writing class. How could I possibly worry about the fundamentals of English grammar stuff stupid when there’s a tall sexy devil stalking the spooky nights? I wish He would stalk me.  I know “some” people would say that I am a silly pants; that He would devour my soul or drive me to madness… but they don’t understand Him like do. I know He would not do this to me. And how could He? I’m His “biggest” fan. ;) Oh well, I suppose I’ll just have to prove them all wrong.", "FanBoy97: Journal entry 2.)", "Woe is me. Must I be alone for all eternity? Doomed to wander the cruel world in my misunderstoodedness? I spent the entire afternoon in the cemetery after school today, drawing the sacred symbol on each and every tombstone, the circle of darkness with the ‘x’ of also darkness, awaiting for Him to run into my arms. I even wore my outfit, my extra special Sailor Moon miniskirt and thigh high socks. I must have ridden my tricycle around those gave stones a thousand times before I ran out of Hi-C. How could He not be enticed by me? Am I not enticing? Of course I am, it must have been those fart faces who showed up and interrupted my unholy ritual. The called me names, really mean names that cut into my soul like razors. I tried not to cry, but I could not stop myself. “If you don’t stop… shouldn’t make fun of the black forces that dwell within me!” I yelled at them before they started throwing bananas at me. Bananas that cut deeper than any black razor of black blackness. I road my tricycle home as fast as I could. On the way I checked my vampire Pikachu watch, IT WAS ALMOST 6 O’CLOCK!!! My mom must have been worried sick! But then I got home and she gave me some spaghetti. Yummy!", "FanBoy97: Journal entry 3.)", "I just took a bubble bath, and now I need to check my emails for the rightful acceptance of my creepypasta submission. Let’s look… NOTHING! Anger and other dirty talk! How could it not be posted yet? I submitted it yesterday afternoon, how long do I have to wait for the world to see my spectacular greatness? I know, that jerky jerk face administrator is jealous of my uncanny ability to write epic tales of melancholy spookiness. Of course that’s what it is, nobody could pass up my masterpiece unless they were intimidated. It was called, “The grand adventures of the totally badass and in no way at all homoerotic sparkly vampires.” It was so awesome. I guess I’m just going to have to send that jerk a bunch of emails outlining why he’s such a jerk. Then he’ll see, they’ll all see. But it’s almost eight, and I need to snuggle into bed next to my Jeff the Killer body pillow and let my darky dark mind of darkness take me to the ultradarkness of dreamland.", "FanBoy97: Journal entry 4.)", "I woke up from that dream again, I just had to write it down this time. It was the one where I’m lying there still in my bed completely naked when the wind blows my bedroom window open, and then that beautiful slender body of His floats in, hovering above me, tempting me with the prospects of sweet sweaty passion.\n“Come to me, sweet prince,” I say to Him as He lowers Himself gracefully, His black suit stretched tight across His lovely form.\n“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” I ask him. He never says a word.\n“Oh, the strong and silent type aren’t you?” I whisper into where His ear balls should be. “That’s okay,” I continue in the most seductive voice I can manage. “You don’t have to say a thing.” I pulled on His necktie, pulling His faceless face against mine. Then we start making out, AND IT WAS SEXXXXXY! Then after like, an hour, I whisper back into his ear balls, “How about you take off that suit and show me what those tentacles can really do…”\nWhen I woke up my sheets were all sticky.", "FanBoy97: Journal entry 5.)", "OMG!!<333333!!!! I don’t even know to explain it, but after that hot sticky dream I just couldn’t go back to sleep. So I kinda just stayed awake and sent fifty complaints to that jerk faced administrator , when I got this sense you know? A most… arousing sense at that. I got this feeling that I needed to look out of my window, and when I did, I that it was… it was Him! Slenderman was watching me from across the street. I knew it was Him at once, He’s impossible to mistake. The tall, thin body in the most fabulous of suits. He was just standing there motionless, expressionless, beckoning to me… Oh shits! I better get back to the window, He’s still out there and I need to press my bare nipples against the glass to keep Him interested. I’ll come back later to write how it went. Oh God, I feel as giddy as a school girl at the gynecologist’s!", "The Next Day…", "Officer Stinson is standing at the scene of the crime, his partner, Officer Drake approaches him with a cup of coffee in each hand.\n“So what in the hell and the hootenanny happened here?” Asks Drake as he glances over the carnage. Up high in a tree sectioned off by yellow hazard tape is the body of a young boy, his torso impaled on one of the many jagged braches. On the ground below him, there are several plastic bags filled with what is assumed to be some of the boy’s organs. They include; eyes, kidneys, liver, pancreas, gallbladder and several fingers. Officer Stinson hands his partner a piece of paper covered in blood.\n“We found this nailed to the tree.” Says Stinson to Drake. “I think you know what it means.” Drake reads the note, each letter spelled out in crimson.\n“No means no,” Drake reads aloud. “Great googally moogally! Not another one of these sickos! Must be the third one this year, and it does explain why the kid up there is wearing a dress.”\nOfficer Stinson looks back up into the tree. The boy is in fact still wearing his Sailor Moon outfit.\n“Yeah,” Says Stinson, “We’re dealing with one twisted pervert here alright. We checked this kids journal earlier this morning. It looked like he was getting ready to try and date rape Slenderman.”\nDrake shakes his head in disgust. “Sweet zombie Jesus. Kids these days, messin’ around on the interwebs, thinking that it couldn’t happen to them, then all of a sudden ‘ol Slendy gets sick and tired of being sexually harassed. Can anyone really blame him for resorting to this?”\nStinson looks down at his feet with a somber look on his face. “No, no I don’t think anyone really can. But we gotta look at it this way; at least for now, we can take comfort in knowing that this nightmare is finally over.”", "Just then, the boy in the tree coughs out a spattering of blood.\n“WHY? WHY DON’T YOU LOVE MEEEE?!?” He chokes out. Without hesitation, Officers Drake and Stinson pull their side arms from their holsters, emptying the clips into the whining fan boy. When the dust settles, Stinson looks back to Drake.\n“Okay, now it’s over.”", "Credit To – Stephan D. Harris", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Demon Within	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-demon-within/	8.78	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "It was past midnight now, and I still had a while until I met my destination. The girl I picked up an hour ago was asleep in the seat beside me. She was a hitchhiker. I couldn’t leave a teenager alone at night in the pouring rain, I had to pick her up. She seemed pretty happy that someone was finally giving her a ride.", "I didn’t know her real name, only that her friends call her “Jo.” She looked so calm, so peaceful. Her brown hair obscured half her gorgeous face, her lips flexed in a barely noticeable smile. She must be having a nice dream.", "I tried to remember the last dream I had, but had no luck. Then, I felt it; a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. A terrible, ugly feeling. I looked down at the girl as I drove, hoping her smiling face might help me overcome and not give in to the demon within… but I could feel it clawing to get out.", "I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. I needed to get the girl out of the car, but that would take too long. It would happen before then.", "I continued to struggle, fighting an inner battle. Then… No. I couldn’t contain it. It happened: I let out the most monstrous fart I’d ever released. It was legendary. It was the kind of thing kids would tell stories about to scare younger kids.", "I reluctantly looked to see if the beast that escaped my body had woken the girl. It hadn’t, but the smile had faded and she looked to be having a nightmare now.", "Credit: Jordan D.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Arm and a Leg	https://www.creepypasta.com/arm-and-a-leg/	6.81	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on a true story, 1983.", "Liam was your average 28 year old. He worked, ate, slept and gamed, as well as spending time with his family. He lived in Limerick city with his wife Mary and his children Megan and Armen.", "One rainy day he was playing a bit of Contra with the teenage Armen when he yelled out in pain. Clutching his wrist, it felt agonizingly painful and lumpy. Mary came in and examined it.", "“It looks like you’ve snapped something dear,” she tutted worriedly. “You’ll need surgery.”", "“Oh no,” started Liam. “I don’t do surgeons. Remember the whole knee reconstruction fiasco?”", "“You were able to walk again eventually honey. Besides, I was thinking of a different guy. Amy told me of someone who helped her through her whole back problems.”", "“Amy, huh? Is she the one.. no, yeah – is she the one who lost the child recently?”", "“Poor dear, yes that’s her.”", "“Alright, we’lll see her doc. What’s his name?”", "“Dr. Laspen Varas. He’s Finnish or something.”", "“Could you make an an appointment?”", "****************************", "Dr. Varas was a tall, kind looking man who made very bad jokes. His English was poor, and Liam had trouble deciphering him sometimes. Liam was being wheeled into the operating theatre, his family walking alongside him. Dr. Varas was going over some final details. He was also to be the anesthesiologist for the procedure.", "“It just wrist surgery”, he explained to an apprehensive Liam. “Not like heart surgery.” He threw his head back and laughed. Liam smiled nervously. He turned to his kids.", "“See you in a bit, Armen. You too Megan. Daddy loves you.” Armen said that he and his sister would be waiting outside, and he’d Look after her while Mum went to work. Megan at six years old was too busy with her thumb in her mouth to respond. There were tears in her eyes and she clung on to her mother’s leg. Mary kissed Liam gently, then said she’d check in on them all when she got off work at five.", "They halted and waved as Liam was pushed into the operating room. He tried to wave back, but the pain in his wrist was worse than ever. He gasped as he was rolled through the door; the slight judder being enough to send waves of pain shooting up his arm. Dr. Varas hooked him up to the I.V, and began the slow process of knocking him out.", "Dr. Varas kept up a stream of jokes and comments, likely trying to relax Liam who’s heart rate was extremely high. As the drugs began to kick in, shapes in the room became distorted, and Varas’ voice dropped in pitch. The room began to spin and Liam could no longer understand most of what the surgeon said. He picked up the odd sentence, but they made no sense through the haze of tiredness and the strong accent.", "”I’m going to take some, and spill your water.”", "Time slowed down and colors danced across his eyes. The last thing the surgeon said was yet another stupid joke.", "“This surgery will cost you arm and an leg.”", "Liam snorted softly. His final thought before drifting into unconsciousness was ‘If losing an arm would stop this pain in my wrist, then I could deal with it.’ Then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his heart rate slowed.", "*********************", "He woke sluggishly. Some time had passed, that he could tell. His head hurt, yet more worryingly his wrist still did too. Badly. Why was he awake if he wasn’t fixed. Then his ears started working properly.", "He could hear sobbing.", "Female sobbing.", "He slowly opened his eyes. The theater was dark, and empty except for the figure lying next to him, her face pressed into the bed.", "It was Mary. He felt a surge of panic. His body felt numb.", "“Mary!” he croaked. “What’s he done to me??” She raised her head. Her mascara was running down her face and her shoulders shook horribly.", "“Nothing dear,” he whispered steadily. Then her voice rose as she cried out :", "“He’s taken Armen and Meg!”", "Credit To: Micha3l", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Vacation	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-vacation/	6.35	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "A few years ago, a group of college kinds were getting ready for spring break. One informed the rest that his uncle who owns a cabin in the woods would be gone for the weekend, and gave them permission to use it as they wish.", "Though one or two weren’t interested to stay in a run down old cabin for a weekend, they reluctantly agreed and took the trip.", "They enjoyed their weekend and returned safely.", "Credit To: Max C", "DERPNOTE: This pasta is a Crappypasta Success Story. That means that it received enough upvotes during its time on Crappypasta for it to be posted on the main archive. You can find its Crappypasta entry here. Thanks, everyone!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Name	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-name/	8.2	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "I always knew there was something wrong with my beloved grandmother. It started when she began rambling about a ‘creature.’", "“It follows me,” she would whisper.\nHer grey skin would become infinitely grayer.", "“It talks to me,”\nHer pupils dilated.", "So, as any loving family would have done we assumed she was just ‘losing it’ and decided to put her in a home. Every now and again I visit my beloved grandmother and find her sitting in her chair talking to the empty room. She would turn to me and try to say something but instantly. She would tell me what she saw every night.", "“White holes for eyes,”\nHer frayed hair would stand up on her neck.", "“It looks through my window, waiting for its chance,”\nThere go the eyes.", "“Waiting, waiting for me to…” she went quiet for a moment “to… say it’s name…”", "I dismissed this as another episode of hers and went about my life. Then one day, I went to see my beloved grandmother. As usual she was sat in her chair. But this time she turned to me and said its name.", "My beloved grandmother mysteriously dissapeared that night.", "To this day I struggle to think what she had called this creature stalking her for her remaining years.", "Candle jack, was it?", "I can’t rememb", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Happy April Fool’s Day from Creepypasta!	https://www.creepypasta.com/happy-april-fools-day-from-creepypasta/	8.86	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Announcements" ]	[ "Announcements" ]	[ "Since many of you seem to be confused: in my time zone, it is April 1st. This is known as April Fool’s Day in many countries around the world. As a number of you seem to find this a strange and new concept, here you go:", "April Fools’ Day is celebrated in many countries on April 1 every year. Sometimes referred to as All Fools’ Day, April 1 is not a national holiday, but is widely recognized and celebrated as a day when people play practical jokes and hoaxes on each other.", "The earliest recorded association between April 1 and foolishness is an ambiguous reference in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (1392). Many writers suggest that the restoration of January 1 by Pope Gregory XIII as New Year’s Day of the Gregorian Calendar in the 16th century was responsible for the creation of the holiday, sometimes questioned for earlier references.", "…All that is to say, yes, if the date somehow didn’t already tip you off, the floating creepypasta, numbers station playlist, and steady stream of parodypasta is our way of celebrating April Fool’s Day. Ex-admin Predhead helped me out with deciding what to do, so he gets a portion of the credit (or blame?) as well!", "For those of you having heart attacks all over the comments, it’s okay. The floating stuff and autoplay will be gone once the day is over.", "For the time being, if you really just cannot handle even one day of this, scroll all the way down and you’ll find the audio player. You can stop the numbers stations there (or listen to more of them if you find them appealing). The floatypasta effect ends after 20 seconds on any page, so you don’t have to wait too long for Jeff and his posse to leave you alone and let you read some pasta.", "If you haven’t, yet, I suggest that you pay Crappypasta a visit as well. It’s looking particularly special today too, though it might take a moment to sneak up on you.", "I hope that calms the anxieties of all of you either aren’t familiar with the holiday or just were unable to put two and two together, and for the rest of you – Happy April Fool’s Day!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Jeff the Killer versus Slenderman	https://www.creepypasta.com/jeff-the-killer-versus-slenderman/	8.48	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "The dark, wet alley was slightly illuminated by Sarah’s cell phone light, as she shined it every few seconds to see where she was headed. Her eyes scanned the darkness, and she shook crazily. What had happened to her last night was a mystery. She thought back, back to the bar. She had just came in with some friends, just a fun night out. Nothing could have happened, or so she thought. Now she was trembling, walking from building to building at three in the morning. Again she thought back, but everything was a blur. She passed an old ratty motel, and a pub.\nSarah made her way to the outskirts of her neighborhood, around a heavily wooded area. She walked, she clenching her eyes shut tight for moments at a time. She was huddled into her coat for warmth as the cold rain covered her for what seemed like an eternity. Just as her eyelids took cover of her eyes, something shined out of the corner of her vision. She instantaneously flashed her eyes open once again, and her pupils became wide. She looked around. Nothing stood out in the blackness and rain. She spun around and continued her way back, hoping she would make it home. As she studied her surroundings, she remembered a shortcut that she took as a kid when playing “Hide and seek” with her childhood playmates.", "It involved climbing through the woods. The cold woman hesitated, but came to the decision that anything that would get her to her warm home quicker is the better way. Sarah headed towards the forest. As she made her way in, the first tree she laid eyes on had been marked. What was on marked on the tree mystified her, what looked like a circle with an X inside. She knew nothing of its origin or meaning, so she just assumed this was some kind of gang symbol, or something of the sort. Making her way into the forest, she recalled the fun times she had as a kid. She thought to herself out loud.", "“I miss those times. Back when the world wasn’t a ba-”", "Her voice trailed off. Sarah heard the loud crack of a tree branch off in the distance behind her. Terrified, she began running through the woods, and she soon became lost. She continued on anyway, hoping for a way out. Her lack of caution quickly resulted in her leg being caught on a near lying root, and she fell to the ground. Attempting to get up caused her even more pain. She had twisted her ankle.", "“Somebody please.. help me!” she called out.", "The crunching of leaves became present again. She attempted to stand up and run once again, but her injury kept her in one place. She clenched her eyes shut out of fear, and as she opened them again, a tall, white man dressed in a suit stood before her. She had become visually impaired at the sight of this man. She began screaming in terror, but was soon silenced by the slender, pale man that stood before her in the dark.", "Four o’ clock. What once was a young boy, now was a cold blooded psychopath. Jeff the killer had just finished what he called his “Daily rounds”. The slaughtering of innocent people, this was almost all that flooded Jeff’s mind. He dragged his feet up the wet cement as he entered what he had called his home for years. Jeff stepped foot into a world of tragic memories, clutching two whiskey bottles in hand. Jeff had become a drunken killing machine. His brain was filled with the scent of murder. One thought that did cross his psychotic mind had been there since day one. As the rain hit the weary house, Jeff began to recall the night in which he slaughtered his entire family. He chuckled at the thought. If it wasn’t for his insanity, he may have thought about regret. Remorse for taking the lives of the people he once loved. But that wasn’t possible at this point. Jeff was out for one thing and one thing only. Death.", "Five o’ six in the morning. He took another swig at his alcohol.", "“What in the fuck am I sitting here for..” Jeff buzzed.", "As he got up to make his way into the night, he swerved a bit, and took another chug at his whiskey. The alcohol hit his warm, bloody lips, and he felt an odd sensation. A sudden urge had hit him. He stood in the room, gazing out at the forest beyond the house. Jeff checked his pockets- cigarettes, a lighter, and of course his knife. Jeff knew that something wasn’t right. The feeling he got was a mix of the urge to kill again, and something far different than what he had ever felt before.", "He stormed out of his home, into the cold,wet night. Jeff was now in a dark street, his only light source being a lamp illuminating the road. The rain, still pouring, hit Jeff’s back. He started to move in the direction of the forest. He struggled a bit, his alcohol consumption that night had been extremely high. The killer approached the desolate forest. Before he entered, he took a quick glare to his left. Jeff was not far from a cemetery. He trembled towards it. A thought blew into his mind, almost like the wind on a breezy afternoon. The last piece of his family was only feet away, and it beckoned him.", "He moved his feet away from the forest, and towards the graveyard. Slowly Jeff walked, yet he tripped a few times spanning the short distance. He approached a grave. Jeff graced it with the rotten odor of death, his jacket being covered in the blood and remains of his victims. Jeff simply gazed at the cold slab of granite. His vision was too distorted to make out any sort of words, because of this, he just stood and stared. Jeff’s insides began to feel uneasy, and his throat became dry. The same feeling from just minutes before.", "Jeff stumbled back to the forest. While trembling towards the woodland, his eyes wandered to a tree a few feet farther out than the others. What looked like a small, greyish piece of paper could be seen hanging by a nail His eyes blurry, he was unable to read it. He took no attempt either, and crept into the darkness slowly. Almost as if he recognized this place, as if it were his true home.", "Squeezing his two whiskey bottles, he studied the forest in a drunken haze. Jeff admired the darkness, it reminded him of a black hallway, one where the murderer could easily slash the necks of his victims without being seen. As he continued walking, Jeff became in a way, infatuated. The empty blackness swirled around him. Muttering to himself in unrecognizable gibberish, he continued to trot. Something felt a bit odd. The crunching of leaves seemed too loud to account for only one person. Jeff felt as if something was lurking beyond his line of sight.", "“Who’s there?” Jeff growled.", "An abundance of noise could be heard, but nothing out of the ordinary. The chirps of crickets grew louder as Jeff studied his surroundings.", "“Come on chicken, I don’t really like games, and not hide and seek at all.”", "As Jeff announced this, a quick rustling from a nearby bush could be heard. He slashed at it before the sound could come to a silence on its own. Jeff then saw what was hidden out of sight the entire time.", "“Damn rats, you’re just some good for nothing pests.” Jeff proclaimed as a rodent scurried from the leaves.", "After he had seen what hid in the bush, he continued his midnight stroll. The rain crashing against his back came to a slow stop. His vision was becoming very blurry, and a loud noise was growing within his head. What could be heard was just a figment on Jeff’s insane imagination, for the woods were completely silent. He tampered around, dragging his feet and cursing at the almost unbearable noise. Nothing like it had pierced his ears with such discontent before.", "The noise that drowned Jeff slowly became absent. From the pain, Jeff fell to a tree. Both bottles that were once clenched into his hands fell towards the ground. One crashed against the bark, and shattered everywhere. The crack of glass had viciously dragged Jeff back into consciousness. As his eyes readjusted to the darkness one more, the blurriness was magnified as Jeff saw a white, oval like object hovering above him. His eyes quickly focused from shock, but what had been in front of him a few seconds ago was nowhere to be found.", "“What in the fuck was that?”", "Jeff chuckled at his own remark. Was his mind playing tricks on him?", "“Now I know that ain’t no damn rats”", "He hastily came to the conclusion that something had to be lurking in the darkness, following him from a distance.", "“That’s it, I’m done playing games. Where the fuck are you, you bastard!?” Jeff screamed to the top of his lungs in hope of some kind of response. He was answered abruptly. As he started to walk again, he felt the slightest tingle on his neck.", "“That’s not the damn air, fucker. Get the hell out of the bushes before I decide to fuck you up!” Jeff felt wild at this point. Nothing about this place was right, but he was enjoying every minute of it. Swiftly, he pulled his shining blade from his coat pocket, and began slashing at trees in the darkness.", "“Come out, come out bitch!” He cried out. “No hiding now, I’ll cut every last chip of bark to slit your throat!”", "Jeff pointed his knife towards a tall, thin tree protruding from the left of his vision, and stabbed. He was astonished to see that on direct contact, the tree, or what he thought was a tree faded away into the darkness in a matter of milliseconds. Not knowing what to do, he glanced quickly towards his right, and stabbed at the black of night. He peered out into the wood, and saw not what he had expected. What stood before the psychotic boy was an extremely tall, thin man, dressed in a clean, black suit. This was all that Jeff could make out at the time, the rain caused Jeff’s sight to become immensely distorted.", "Jeff’s eyes had cleared again, and he quickly began to observe the man. He was emaciated, his face pale, almost pure white in color. As Jeff studied the face, he soon came to notice the lack of facial features on this man. This “Thing”’s face was completely empty, no eyes, nose, or mouth. Just a white, blank, head. This made Jeff feel a bit uneasy, and he soon broke out into a laugh. Although astounded, Jeff soon addressed the figure before him.", "“So you were the bastard chasing me through the woods huh?”", "Jeff stared at the blankness once more.", "“You know, I don’t know what the fuck you are, but you kinda remind me of myself” “You’ve got the nice white face, but all you’re missing is a smile!”", "Jeff began laughing uncontrollably at his own notion. Yet he was stopped, Jeff’s ears were assaulted by static, and he fell to the ground. He was shrouded in complete darkness as he clenched his ears for mercy. The figure Jeff earlier questioned was now causing Jeff extreme pain, while the place where his eyes should have been staring directly into Jeff’s. At that point, Jeff snapped. He broke free of the pain, drew his knife once more, and began slashing. Each one of his moves were futile, as the man moved around in no time at all, almost as if he was teleporting from place to place to avoid the attacks.", "The tall man began to fight back. Jeff had just now begun to notice the tendrils hanging from the back of his attacker. They grabbed at Jeff, and his response was to swing his knife at each that came near him. Jeff managed to slice what seemed to be an arm. In almost an instant, the limb quickly grew back into place. What had just happened astonished Jeff. He felt almost as if the man was a tall tree, and his tendrils simply branches. Jeff fled from the forest, knowing that there was no way he would be able to fight whatever his adversary truly was in what seemed to be his home territory.", "Jeff rushed from his attacker, and found himself at the same place where he had entered. To the right of him lie the cemetery. Open space. As he ran past the trees, he noticed one that lie away from the others. The same tree from before. He ran to it out of instinct, and read the note he had seen from a distance before.", "“Do not enter these woods at night, a tall man has been spotted in the area recently, some call him the Slenderman. Beware, and enter at your own risk.”", "Whatever the being that had stalked him in the woods before was referred to as Slenderman. The name fit perfect with the description of the tall, white figure. Jeff hurried towards the graveyard, where he waited for his foe, wielding his sharp, bloody, knife. Jeff’s wish had been granted, as the Slenderman approached from the woods. It seemed as if it was hesitant to leave its home court. Despite is hesitance, it left the area anyway, and quickly rushed towards Jeff. The psychopath’s instincts started to come back, and he jumped towards the tall man. Jeff was quickly grabbed by his enemy, and thrown against a nearby tree.", "Jeff proceeded to swing again at the tendrils that had grabbed him. He was able to slash at one of the Slenderman’s main arms. Blood oozed from the deep cut. The white figure showed no emotion, and began snatching at Jeff once again. As he continued to smash Jeff against trees, and slabs of rock, Jeff’s knife slipped from his grip, and fell to the ground with Jeff. Colliding with the ground, Jeff’s knife slid into his own stomach in a matter of seconds. Blood poured from the wound, and soon the ground was covered in a red liquid. He stood up with a jolt.", "“Is that the best you got Slendy?” “I’ve taken worse beatings from my father’s belt than you’re weak twig arms!”", "The Slenderman remained silent, but continued fighting. The man reached for a piece of granite from a tombstone, but before he could take hold of it, Jeff jerked the knife from his gut, and flung it directly at Slenderman. Jeff’s accuracy was precise, and it sliced off one of the man’s limbs. Slenderman’s left arm was completely gone, as it fell to the ground with a thud. It was quickly met by thick blood that barraged from his shoulder. It was completely drenched in blood. Slenderman briskly disappeared into the darkness, but illuminated behind Jeff. In his right hand, he held a broken piece of granite, that he proceeded to slam into the side of Jeff’s head. Jeff fell to the ground once again, almost knocked unconscious.", "He was not left there for long before he was seized by his assailant, and thrown against a grave. The stone exploded on impact with Jeff. Standing up once again, Jeff’s eyes focused on the name on the grave. As his eyes crossed the name on the granite, his black eyes widened. The words written across the gray slab were recognized by Jeff in an instant. It read out his brother’s name, Liu. Something was coursing through Jeff. Rage filled him within an instant, and he lashed out at Slenderman at extreme speeds. Jeff’s knife was slashing through his suit, as well as his pale skin. Slenderman began teleporting towards the forest.", "“Come on bitch, I’m not finished with you yet!” Jeff hollered. “I want to help you get to sleep Randy! You look awfully tired!”", "Whatever was flowing through Jeff caused his insanity to go into an overdrive state. He had become delusional. He ran at Slenderman, and back into the forest. He rushed through the woods, not observing his environment whatsoever. Jeff was deep into the forest, still pursuing the man. Slenderman continued warping around the forest. Jeff’s lack of caution caused him to trip on a branch lying in his way. As he crashed into the ground, shards of glass pierced him, and the contents of his pockets were thrown out. His items scattered the ground. As Jeff looked up with his mangled, bloody face, the scent of alcohol graced him. Jeff knew that he had been here before, he had fallen on this tree and dropped his bottle.", "Jeff desperately searched the ground for his knife. He felt his hand grab hold of something warm, what he had hoped was his blade. Jeff had grabbed his liter. He quickly scrapped at it, hoping that the small flames would provide a source of light. His bloody hands covered the plastic in the red liquid. After many desperate attempts, a small, orange flame was produced. Jeff threw the liter out in front of him as he attempted to find his knife that lay close to him. Before he could make another movement, Slenderman appeared before him. The smooth white face that he had seen before was now covered in slashes and dark blood. Even though he looked hurt, Slenderman remained strong.", "Jeff’s grip on the liter became loose, his blood had caused friction between it and his hand. The small blaze dropped towards the ground. Intense flames scorched as the liter hit the ground. Both adversaries fled away from the flame. Before either of them could put distance between themselves and the flame, it was ignited by the alcohol that soiled the ground. In a matter of seconds, the forest was burning from the ground up. Jeff looked for safety, yet none was to be found in the flames. Slenderman thought nothing of this, and continued to swing at Jeff. Jeff fought back, ignoring the orange and red covering his environment. The tall monster grabbed at Jeff. Jeff grabbed his knife and jumped.", "To no avail, Jeff was pulled by the Slenderman, and was now stuck in his grip. Slenderman began to shake Jeff around, as he did this, Jeff bit at him, and a loud crack of bone could be heard. The pain surged through Slenderman, out of shock, he threw Jeff against a large tree. As Jeff flew towards the tree, a sharp pain hit Jeff straight in the back. It continued until he saw a large branch sliding through his torso, and he hit the base of the tree. Jeff had been viciously impaled by a long tree branch.", "Blood gushed from his mouth and open wounds as he screamed out in pain. Slenderman then fled. He warped to an area of safety, where the forest had not been burned as of yet. He watched Jeff as he attempted to escape. At this point, the Slenderman knew that escape was impossible. The white monster could hear Jeff screaming, even from a large distance away. He continued to warp away from his territory, and left Jeff to burn in the flames.", "The blaze became brighter, and surrounded Jeff. Struggling to avoid the intense heat, he violently slid his body from the tree. Fire engulfed Jeff, everything swirled around him. He became wrapped up into the flames, there was no hope for Jeff. He had lost his mind long ago, yet this was something different. He had reached his limit, and his state of mind burned just as the forest did.", ".", "“A young girl by the name of Sarah Burgess has been reported missing. She was last seen at Drop In Bar&Grill at around 9 o’ clock P.M. If you have any idea on the whereabouts of Sarah Burgess, please call the station at 404-835-HELP(4357). In other news, a major forest fire has broken out in the local area, the cause has not yet been discovered. Investigators are studying the remnants of the forest. The fire has been extinguished. This will hurt much of the animal life found in the once heavily wooded forest. We’ll bring more on this story as it comes.”", "Mark turned off the television, and slumped into his couch cushion.", "“Hey honey, you want to go take a look at the forest, well, whats left of it? They’ve put out the fire that burned the damn thing to the ground. There’s also a girl missing, maybe we’ll see her while we’re out there.”", "“Can we do it some other time? I’m kind of busy right now Mark, and if the police can’t find that girl, there’s no way in hell we can!” Julia protested.", "Mark argued. “Come on, it won’t hurt nothing. It won’t be more than a five minute walk!”", "“Alright I guess, but five minutes only!”.", "The man put on his shoes, and left his house with his wife. As they strolled towards the burnt out forest, they could see something moving in the opposite direction. It looked somewhat human. As they moved closer towards it, they noticed what looked like severe burns to it’s face. The creature’s eyelids were completely gone, and it carried an unnatural smile spread across his face. It was completely white, with hints of gray where it looked like he had been burned. It’s long, black hair was singed. They came closer towards it, and Mark shouted.", "“Hey buddy, do you need some help?” Mark bellowed.", "“Mark stop, we don’t even know who he is! He could be a fucking killer for all we know!” Julia whispered, frightened.", "The man moved swiftly towards the couple. As he approached them, he drew a thick blade covered in a red liquid.", "“I don’t, but I can tell you need some help to sleep.”", "Jeff slashed the knife across the man’s neck, and he fell to the ground. His wife began to scream loudly. She was unable to continue, as she was next. She was stabbed directly in the heart with the knife.", "“You don’t need to worry about me. Just go to sleep.”", "Credit To: Dylan R. (CustomCreepyPasta)", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
It Came Back!	https://www.creepypasta.com/it-came-back/	4.73	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Ok, I’m trying to calm down at the moment, but its locked in the next room bashing against the door. If it makes it through, I’m going to die. I’ll start at the beginning, and I’m hoping someone might be able to help me.", "About a month ago, I submitted a creepypasta to this site, and didnt hear back from anyone, nor was it published. ‘oh well’ I thought, ‘either it wasn’t as good as I thought it would be, or they just haven’t accepted it yet. It’s not like if it gets ignored for a month, it will come back as a reanimated zombie corpse of a story and try to eat my brains…’ yeah, I bet that’s what you would think too!", "Less than an hour ago, my desktop exploded and the tangled mess of words that formed my story burst out, lunging for my throat. Now, being the paranoid, zombie survivalist I am, I’ve always got a loaded handgun, and a baseball bat close by, just in case it turns out I’m right, and an undead army really is going to kill us all. So I shot it! I shot the first paragraph, I shot the second paragraph, I bashed every last word, and crushed every bit of pronounciation! But it didn’t stop. It just kept coming!", "I lured it into the next room with my tasty tasty flesh, and have managed to lock it in there and bar the door, and I’m now writing this on my dodgy old laptop. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold that bad, zombified story at bay, and if this one comes back to life as well, well, I fear for humanities sake!", "Credit To: Uforia", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Dan	https://www.creepypasta.com/dan/	7.3	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "One day, I was walking home from school. I only lived about a block away, so that was easy. But as I was walking home one day, I saw something peaking out of the sand. It was a little grey videogame cart. It had to be for the old gameboys, or maybe the gameboy colors. This was on, like, the last day of middleschool, in 2005. Shows you how old I am, right? I took it home, and put it in my Gameboy Advance (which I swore I was going to get rid of, any day now, really. No, really! I’m gonna get a DS… Eventually.)", "It didn’t have a label. That should have given me a clue something was up. But I put it in the Gameboy, and it was Tetris DX. Awesome! I looked through it, and I found them. The highscores table. And at the top of the highscores table was someone named DAN, with a highscore of 683,092.", "I started playing. Trying to beat that highscore. But I had homework to do, so I didn’t get very far. I went to school and told my friends about it the next day. They found it cool, and we all got together and started speculating about who DAN was, and whether he missed his game, and how he got so good at Tetris.", "I came home, and stayed up… Honestly, way too late, trying to beat it. That night,t hough, I only got 49,594 as the highest. But something weird happened. When I left for school, there was a note on my front porch.", "“Don’t beat my score – DAN”", "There was a little picture of a stick man with a knife in his chest.", "I figured one of the guys from school had put it there. Maybe Ben. Eh, whatever. Pranks aren’t very funny if you just come out IMMEDIATELY and say you did it.", "It happened the next day.", "“Don’t beat my score – DAN”", "This time the stick figure was decapitated. I put it in my pocket and went to school. I didn’t even mention it, ‘cause I figured that they knew I’d found it. And that night, I went home, and played Tetris.", "And that morning, I got a note from DAN.", "“Don’t beat my score – DAN”", "The stick figure was being shot in the groin by another one.", "I was getting annoyed, but my friends were smart guys. They know comedy. Rule of 3s. After three times, it stops being funny. At lunch, I kind of tried to lead the conversation that way. See if I could get them to tell me about it. Tell me it was all a joke, just fun and games. But they seriously had no idea.", "Eh.", "Okay. That’s how they wanted to play it? Fine.", "I kept playing. Every night, I went home, and played Tetris.", "Every day, I got another note.", "“Don’t beat my score – DAN”", "And a stick figure who’d been murdered in a new, creative, gruesome way.", "And then one night, finally, after a month of this, I was doing it. I was getting really, really good. Seriously, I was starting to kick ass and take names. I was up in the 100,000s regularly. Even the 200,000s sometimes.", "And then, this night, I was getting in the groove. You know how there’s the right level of tired, the right level of drunk, where you’re REALLY GOOD at things?", "Well I hit it. I’d been up all night, and I was getting good.", "Icould tell this was it. This was going to be my high score. No, this was going to be THE high scre. I was so excited. It was going to happen. I was going to beat Dan. The Tetris tower was getting bigger. And bigger. I was in the zone, racking up points like it was my last day on earth.", "And that was the night. My best night. My highest scoring Tetris night. I was playing up until the sun rose. And I went out on the porch to see if DAN was coming.", "And you know what happened?", "Nothing.", "Monsters aren’t real. There aren’t killers stalking you, waiting for you to break some arbitrary rule, some made-up thing that only they know about. Fall into some arcane trap or push the wrong button and have your world destroyed. Have your life torn apart because of some weird videogame. That only happens in horror movies and creepypastas.", "Although, to be fair, I only got 128,859", "So maybe I just suck at Tetris.", "Credit To: Redhat", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Mistake	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-mistake/	8.46	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I was awoken by a low thumping sound. Startled, I sat up in bed but I could see nothing in the darkness of my room. No odd shapes. Thinking it was my imagination, I went back to sleep. But a few minutes later, the low thumping happened again. I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock next to my nightstand, it read 12:00 am.", "Midnight, the witching hour. I snorted at the silly saying. I didn’t believe in such nonsense. I believed the thumping was probably an animal on the roof, all sorts of night animals tend to get up there. Especially at this hour. The sound had to be coming from above, and just sounds like it’s in my room.", "I was about to close my eyes again, but suddenly the thumping happened again. Louder.", "Ok, so now I’m a little creeped out. I never heard something so loud before. I shut my eyes tight and tried to fall back asleep. I wish my parents were home, they left earlier today to visit my sick grandma. And my older brother is spending the night with his girlfriend.", "I almost wished Ashley was here. She’s this annoying airhead from my school, can’t stand her snobby attitude and it sucked she lived next door. At the moment though, I started wishing even she was here with me.", "THUMP.", "Oh god. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to ignore the sound. It has to be my imagination. Yep, just imagining it.", "I shouldn’t have read so many creepypasta stories before falling asleep. Creepy stories from the site always give me nightmares.", "An hour passed.", "No more thumping. Good, starting to feel sleepy again. As I start to doze off, I hear the whisper.", "“I have come for you…..”", "My eyes shot open.", "“I will feast on your soft flesh…”", "I started to cry, that voice was real. There was something in the room with me.", "“I will enjoy the sounds of your screams while I slowly peel off your skin…”", "I didn’t want to look, but I felt like I had too.", "My eyes tried to locate the smooth deep voice, the voice that was threatening horrid things.", "I quickly spotted it.", "He was at the foot of my bed. Even in the darkness, I could see how tall he was. And very pale. His large black eyes glared down at me with such intense hatred. Why was he angry at me? I don’t understand, but did I even want to?", "“Tonight, Ashley, you will die…” He whispered angrily.", "I was about to scream, but then I realized something….did he just say Ashley?!", "“I…I’m not Ashley!” I managed to shout at the pale man.", "“…..You’re not?” Asked the pale man, with a puzzled expression.", "“Um, no. My name’s Erika, Ashley lives in the house next door.” I explained nervously.", "The pale man stared at me for a moment, and then he pulled out a piece of paper from a pocket and studied it. With a look of annoyance, he stuffed the paper back in his pocket and smiled at me. Oh god, his smile. His mouth was too wide, and his teeth were sharp. Maybe even razor sharp.", "“My deepest apologies. I was given the wrong information. Sorry to have disturbed your rest.” He said politely, and then I watched stunned, as he crawled out my bedroom window.", "“Oh!” He popped his head back inside and grinned at me with that large scary grin. “I know this is rather strange, coming from me, but…would you like to maybe…catch a movie one of these days…or dinner perhaps?”", "“…..I’m kind of already seeing someone…” I said.", "“Oh, pity. Well have a good night!” He said as his head pocked back out.", "I stood frozen for a bit. I couldn’t believe what just happened. Nobody would believe me!", "Well it was gone now, whatever the hell he was. I finally breathed a sigh of relief, I was brave enough to finally move and went to close my window and lock it securely.", "As I settled in to sleep, I realized something.", "It was going to get airhead Ashley!", "I was about to dart out of bed, but stopped.\nEh, she was pretty nasty to everybody. Not like she was somebody I cared for too.", "Oh well, I thought, as I snuggled back into my warm blankets and went back to sleep.", "Credit To: [email protected]", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Blue.mp3	https://www.creepypasta.com/blue-mp3/	5.9	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I was playing with a couple of my friends, walking down the empty streets of small town Bennettsville, South Carolina, when I noticed something out of place in a small alley way beside the town café. I paused, “Hey, is that a computer?” I asked, pretty much talking to myself but earning curious glances from my two friends. “I don’t know, go check it out Bun.” Emmy replied looking at the pile of electronic just inside the alley. I sighed, of course she would make me go look…", "I walked carefully (as not to fall and bruise something like I always manage to do) and squatted beside the computer looking it over. That’s weird… The computer was completely unscathed, and seemed to be in pristine condition, even having all of its parts. I picked it up slowly and walked back to my friends, “Let’s go to my house and see if it works.” I said breathing a little deeper because of the effort of holding the computer. My other friend, Jeff laughed at my strained expression. “Let’s get something to carry it first.” He said looking around. Being a small town it wasn’t hard to find a small shopping cart rolling around in an abandoned shop.", "We piled the computer into the shopping cart and headed back towards my house where we hooked it up and pressed the power button. At first there was nothing but the soft tap of rain against my roof and the whistle of wind across the rusty storm door. Emmy sighed, “Guess that is why they threw it away” She said disappointment apparent on her face. I was about to reply when suddenly the computer let out a soft hiss, like an angry animal, and the screen slowly began to fade white. There was no start up screen, only a white page with nothing else on it. Then a small file popped up in the middle of the screen, but we knew something was wrong when we saw it. Instead of a small manila folder like it usually has for files, this file was just a bunch of papers lying on the screen, covered in some rusty red color… I stared at the file for a moment… Under it there was a simple title “Blue.”", "Emmy spoke uncertainly from where she watched over my shoulder, “I don’t like this…” I nodded silently unable to speak. Jeff on the other hand just grinned, “I wonder what it is!” He chirped excitedly. I could never understand how Jeff was always so happy about everything! His grin just widened as he saw my confused face “Click it!” He said leaning down closer over my shoulder. I bit my lip in apprehension but followed his orders double clicking the small file.", "The file opened and showed two text documents with unreadable names and an mp3 file simply named “Blue” just like the folder. I looked at the weird text documents, trying to decipher a secret message in the symbols somehow. “This is really weird, click the song Cassie…” Emmy murmured softly, sounding unsure even to me. I rolled the pointer on to the songs icon but paused. “This doesn’t feel right …” I said feeling the urgent need to shut the computer off and to run away as fast as possible. Jeff just rolled his eyes and put his hand over mine on the mouse double clicking the mp3. I shivered at his cold touch and looked at the screen.", "The screen stayed white for a moment, and then suddenly burst into color as pictures of a young boy played alongside a chilling song. I couldn’t understand the lyrics of the song and they seemed to be in a high pitched, almost vocaloid style voice. It had a sad, lonely, and melancholy tone to it, one that reminded me of my grandma, the one who died 5 years ago. Tears came to my eyes and I took a shuddering breath paying attention to the images, how is this possible? It was an mp3 file wasn’t it? Why are there pictures? I watched as the screen flipped from frame to frame. The first picture was that of a young boy smiling at the camera, next to him stood a woman whose eyes seemed to be dimmed… Almost as if she was, dead… Then it showed him sitting in the lap of a man who looked to be in his late 30’s. This man’s eyes held the same dimness as the woman’s, and his hand seemed to hang limply off the side of the chair. The last image was that of the young boy, he stood eyes dimmed just like the two before him, he looked around the age of 7 or 8 and he had a defeated look on his face. His pale eyes held nothing but an empty longing as he stared at us from the computer. This image had a static like texture and I realized it wasn’t an image, but a video… I heard Emmy and Jeff gasp from behind me as the boy blinked but I couldn’t take my eyes off of it… I couldn’t even breathe while I looked at him.", "The boy took a step towards me and I just sat motionless, just barely hearing Emmy and Jeff’s screams to run; I watched as his hand reached towards me, that song playing in the background. I felt something warm drip down my face as his hand touched the screen. Just as I thought he would jump out of the computer out at me the screen turned pitch black and the song faded out with one last note. Everything was silent in the room except our breathing, suddenly a roar of clapping was heard coming from the computer and I jumped back, finally breaking away from the trance and back into reality. Jeff and Emmy seemed to have been pulled back as well because they ran from the door and back to me, I sat at the computer screen in confusion barely hearing anything. Their words were muffled and weak and yet they still hurt my ears. I turned and noticed that Emmy was crying; I looked at Jeff, “Why is she crying?” I asked taken aback at how low my own voice was. Jeff looked at me and grabbed my hand pulling me towards the bathroom. He dragged me to the mirror and pointed, I looked at the small mirror in shocked horror. My face was pale, almost as white as Jeff’s but not quite; My ears were still there but they had a small river of blood running down them, explaining how hard it was to hear; and My eyes held the same dead feeling that the boys did… I stared in terror at myself in the mirror; my reflection looked back no emotions passing through the thick wall of my eyes. “This can’t be happening…” I said touching my cheek. Jeff nodded “It’s happening alright…” Emmy walked in just then, “Guys… You might want to see this…” She said looking weary and frightened. Jeff and I followed her back into the spare bedroom where I put the computer and I noticed the computer had switched back on, but now the screen held no files. The only thing on it was a small timer slowly counting down the minutes… To what I don’t really know…", "Current Countdown Time: 01Hour 39Minutes 03Seconds", "We looked at each other uncertainly and then back at the timer. “What is it counting down to?” I asked the most obvious question. Jeff shrugged “Count down til self-destruction?” He asked chuckling lightly at his own joke. I shuddered and noticed something else… “What the hell! It’s not even plugged up!!” I said picking the energy cable up and holding it where they could see. Emmy shuddered and stepped back, “We need to get rid of this computer…” She said shaking her head. I nodded and noticed her usually tan skin was a pale white and her entire body seemed to be shaking. “I think you need to take a nap Emmy…” I said softly touching her shoulder. The second I touched her she collapsed. She fell limply to the ground and a pool of blood spread around her as she paled even more and all of the emotion drained from her face. All that was left was her eyes now a dim green color as they stared off into the distant nothingness. I let out a croaked scream and backed up, straight into Jeff. I spun and noticed that his features had contorted; he was no longer the happy go lucky teen I had known before. A huge grin spread across his pasty white skin and his wide eyes were bordered with black. He chuckled darkly and I stepped back tripping over Emmy’s body. “W-What the hell are you?” I asked, tears streaming down my blood stained cheeks. Jeff let out a small gasp as he realized I could see through his mask. But I didn’t give him any more time to react. I jumped up and ran towards the door slamming it behind me and running towards the woods next to my house. What the hell am I doing? I always get mad because in scary movies they run to the woods but now here I am and I do the exact same thing!? My legs burned with effort as I pushed myself onwards trying to run as fast as possible. Suddenly I swerve to the left and run smack into a large tree. I feel everything swirl around me and then… it was dark.", "Current Countdown Time: 00Hour 09Minutes 23Seconds", "I wake up a few minutes later and hear a crack from the woods around me. I sit up and terror runs through my veins like glass. Tears roll down my cheeks as I press my back to the tree and I close my eyes simply waiting for my end to come. I have no god to beg to, even if I did believe in him what were the odds I would make it to heaven with all the sins I have committed? I am sure that I have somehow managed to commit all of the 7 seven sins at least 5 times. Suddenly my heart began to pound loudly, so loud in fact that it drowned out all the sounds of the forest. BADUMP BADUMP BADUMP BADUMP… I listened to the sound of it as I slowly began to feel sleepy. I opened my eyes and saw Jeff standing right in front of me. I couldn’t think straight as I smiled at him, I felt so light and dreamy; almost like mist… Jeff gave me a huge smile and leaned down close so that his cheek touched mine and his breath tickled my ear. “That’s right…” He said softly, like a father tucking in his child. “Go to sleep…” With those finally words he plunged a knife into my stomach. But I didn’t even feel it as the countdown meter struck 0 and my eyes became dull. A ghost of a smile touched my face and I looked at Jeff with a chillingly dead expression. “Goodnight, Jeff…” I said my voice a hoarse scratchy sound. In the last second of my life I saw a look of shock fly across Jeff’s face as he looked at me. But then everything went dark…", "Current Countdown Time: 00Hours 00Minutes 00Seconds", "[fvplayer src=”http://youtube.com/watch?v=68ugkg9RePc?version=3″]", "Credit To: Cassie G.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Origin…	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-origin/	6.24	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies" ]	[ "You hate your brother. Dylan is a jerk all the time. Any opportunity to annoy or ruin your life he’d take with both hands and run. And running literally. As soon as he’d managed to get you in trouble, he would sprint, leaving you to stew. He is always watching you. Trying to find out any embarrassing secrets to spread quicker than a disease through flesh. He once told everyone your favourite animal was a unicorn, and that same day, broke Mom’s favourite vase, and guess who he blamed for it? It’s so annoying. He’s always watching you.", "You walk up the stairs to get a shower, you get a towel ready outside the curtains, and put all your clothes on the washing basket. You turn the water on, wait till the temperature is warm, and place you head under, water flying everywhere. You pull the curtains half closed, due to your paranoia, always thinking someone is behind it, watching you…", "…hold on, someone IS watching you! It’s Dylan, holding his phone, about to take a picture! You yelp, but hear the click. The photo’s been taken.", "“Now I can show everyone your small junk!” He sneers, and runs away.", "You quickly turn off the shower, get a towel, and run to his room.", "“Delete it now!” You growl.", "“Oh I have.” He smiles sweetly. “But I bet Melinda won’t.”", "“Melinda? The girl in your class?”", "“Oh didn’t I say?” He sarcastically mocks. “I sent it to her, and I bet she’ll spread it to someone else, and they will spread it someone else…”", "“I’m gonna tell Mom!” You cry.", "“What proof? Photo’s gone remember?” He smirks.", "You can’t believe this, this is the worst prank yet. You’ll have to go to school, everyone seeing the photo. You go to bed.", "You wake up in the morning, and groan, today is going to be awful. When you get off the bus, you are greeted to mocking laughs. You sigh and hastily walk into the field.", "It’s been 5 hours of non-stop mocking and laughing, feeling miserable and it’s finally last lesson, science. You are doing a methane gas production experiment. Although you aren’t, you’re standing up with your hands in your pockets, you couldn’t do this experiment. You had been pre-occupied and not paying attention, ignoring all the spiteful comments around you. You manage to do this all lesson, until Mr. Monney (the science teacher) looks at you.", "“What happened to your experiment?” He asks you.", "“I, uh, didn’t do it sir.” You admit.\n“Well.” He smiles. “You can do it after school today then.”", "The class cackles cruelly at your punishment. Your heart sinks. You want to go home as soon as possible.\n5 minutes later, you’re alone in the class with Mr. Monney, grumpily fiddling with the experiment.\n“Unfortunately I can’t leave you un-attended.” He starts from the doorway. “So Mr. Franklin will watch you.”", "You sigh, Mr. Franklin was the old, overweight, Spanish caretaker. He waddles in, hating this as much as you. You peer down the vial in your experiment. You’d make Dylan pay for this; you’d get your revenge. You’d get back at all the crap he’s done to you. Get even, one day. You peek at Mr. Franklin. He’s pulling out a cigarette, and is about to light it.", "“Sir, teachers don’t allow smoking.”", "“I am teacher.” He grunts in his deep, strongly Spanish voice. He raises his lighter to the tip of the cigarette.", "You remember! Methane is highly flammable!", "“SIR, DON…”", "But it’s too late; a huge, flaming fire ball leaps out of the air, the flames licking at your flesh. It’s hard to describe, the fire is rushing through you, the intense heat overwhelming. You can feel your skin melting, and dripping off, your limbs becoming weak, your muscles and skeleton exposed.", "The accident had removed you of most your skin and muscle leaving bitty, dangling remains of flesh off you. You were presumed dead, but you aren’t. You are watching your house from a distance. The pain you went through was all Dylan’s fault! Your body wasn’t found, because you escaped. Although the anatomy of the situation was impossible, you should have died, every agonising moment as you crawled away, was a reminder of your hatred towards Dylan. Inch by painful inch, you managed to live.", "You’ll get revenge; you’ll do everything he did to you. You’ll watch him in the bathroom., tell everyone what his favourite animal is, you might break something and say it was you! And there’s NOTHING, HE CAN DO TO STOP YOU, AND GUESS WHAT?", "…YOU ARE A DEAD SKULL!", "", "Credit To: YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE USERNAME!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
April 2013 Discussion Post: Let’s Talk About Zombies!	https://www.creepypasta.com/april-2012-discussion-post-lets-talk-about-zombies/	8	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "This month’s discussion post is a two-parter. Yours truly has been reading World War Z (rereading, to be honest – it’s one of those books that I find easy to pick up over and over again for some reason), and now I’d like to hear everybody’s thoughts on the undead.", "First part: Do you believe that there is, in fact, any chance that a “zombie apocalypse” could ever happen? Why or why not? What do you think would be the cause – or, conversely, what do you think prevents this from ever actually occurring?", "Second part: In the event that the big Z-Day actually did occur, how would you react? What would be your survival plan?", "NOTE: Long-ish comments will be allowed, but as before, if they veer too close to the point where it seems like you’re actually trying to stealth-submit a pasta, they will not be approved. Submissions will be open starting April 6, so if this topic has given you inspiration, please submit your pastas through the proper channel!", "Have fun, and don’t get eaten!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Twist: A Parody	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-twist-a-parody/	8.53	April 1, 2013	299	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Dark Comedy, Humor, and Parodies", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Don’t read this because it actually works. Now youve started reading, you can’t stop. A girl named Kathy drowned to death. If you email or repost this comment to three more videos, tommorrow will be the best day of you life. If you don’t repost this comment on at least three videos, Kathy will come for you when your sleeping. This is so scary because it actually works", "Billy examined the message. He hummed and hawed over it, scratching his chin. On any other day, Billy would have done what the message said. After all, he didn’t want to die within three days, and he did want to have the best day of his life “tommorrow”. But today was different. Today, Billy was eight years old, far too old to be dabbling with such nonsense. He had tried repeating similar messages in the past, and his only reward had been dozens of people on the internet sending him nasty replies.\nHesitantly, Billy placed his mouse over the red X at the top right of the email and pressed it down. The email closed, and as it did, Billy felt shivers run down his spine. But Billy was too old to be scared by such nonsense. He got up from his chair, and headed to the kitchen to find his mom.\nHis mom was preparing a delicious tuna casserole, Billy’s favorite. “Now, Billy,” said his mom, taking the steaming casserole out of the oven, “Remember, this is for lunch tomorrow. Don’t eat it before bed, or it will give you nightmares.” His mom left the room. “I’m going to work now. Make sure you’re in bed in a few minutes, alright?”\nBilly nodded. Billy’s mom left the house, and he heard the slam of the front door. Billy was all alone now. It was time for him to go to bed soon, and he didn’t want to have any more frightening thoughts. But the casserole… it looked so good! Surely, thought Billy, a simple taste would have no effect on me!\nBilly took a stepstool and sampled the irresistible tuna casserole. It melted into his mouth, and filled Billy with a sense of euphoria. Surely, another taste couldn’t hurt. Billy cut himself a slice and took it to his bedroom. After messily devouring the meal, Billy fell asleep.\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. He heard a noise in his room. It was a creeping, sloshing sound, like the sound of a boot sinking into a muddy puddle. At first, Billy thought that it was his mom coming home from work, but after checking the digital clock that glowed bright red in the darkness, he realized that his mom wouldn’t be hoe for another few hours.\nThe sloshing sound continued. Billy sat up straight, listening intently to whatever it could be. He crept downstairs, and saw muddy footprints leading straight into the front hall of his house. He gasped. Now, Billy was frightened. Now, Billy felt like a child, too young to be a part of such a frightening world. He considered bolting out the front door, but Billy calmed himself down; maybe it was simply his mother, home early, after all.\nBilly crept after the footprints. Billy knew that his mother would never trek such a mess through his house. But Billy still had to be sure. The footprints came to a dead stop in the kitchen. Billy poked his head through the doorway and turned the lights on. There, sitting on the kitchen table, was a girl about his age, eating the tuna casserole.\nHer hair was matted, wet and black, her skin, fetid and rubbery, and her eyes glowed as red as his alarm clock upstairs. Billy gasped, startling backwards and crashing against the wall, sliding to the ground. The girl got up off of the table and steadily advanced towards him. “What’s wrong with you?” she said, “I’m just-”\nBilly wouldn’t listen to the she-witches’ horrible taunting. He tore past her, and grabbed the nearest weapon in the room: the tuna casserole. Using the brunt of the glass container, he smashed it over the girl’s head. A steady stream of blood poured from it, and the girl lifelessly collapsed to the ground.\nThe tuna casserole was now spread all over the floor, messily decorating it with bits of cheese and fish. Billy took a sigh of relief, as any moment now the girl would evaporate into a puff of black smoke. However, the girl just lay there lifelessly.\nBilly thought, for a moment, that he had made a mistake. He kicked the girl a bit, but she continued to lay there lifelessly. Looking outside, he noticed that it was raining, which probably explained her hair and the boots. Billy shook the girl frantically, but there was no response.\nBilly started to cry, and as he did, he noticed the girl stirring. Still not sure of what to think, Billy grabbed a piece of glass from the shattered casserole. He grasped it so hard that blood formed at the edge of his hand. The girl rose up, and one of her hands shot towards Billy. As she choked the life out of him, she reached down and began eating the tuna casserole.\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. His chest puffed in and out as he steadied his thoughts. Looking around, he perceived that the previous events had all been a horrible dream. There was no crazy demon ghost girl after all. He sighed in relief, but noticed something wet on his hand. Looking at his hand, he saw the glass he had taken from the tuna casserole, and the blood that had formed after he pierced his skin by holding it too hard!\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. Before doing anything else, Billy looked at his hands. Completely c lean, he thought. Absolutely no blood, no signs of conflict, everything was right with the world. It was still dark out, but his mother would be home soon. Billy looked around, and then let himself relax. “Thank God I’m done with these nightmares,” he said.\n“Don’t thank Him yet,” said a voice coming from the doorway. He looked up and saw the girl again, this time holding a butcher’s knife.\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. Not ready to be fooled again by his dream, he first checked his hands: clean, free of blood. He looked at the doorway: vacant, not a soul in sight. He held his breath and listened for muddy footsteps, but not a single one was heard. Terrified, Billy crept out of his bed, and decided to wait on the couch for his mother to get home.\nHe grasped the metal banister and began his slow descent downstairs. As he did, he looked around, desperate for signs of foul-play. When none were spotted, Billy made it to the couch, and waited for his mom to come home.\nAfter a few minutes of tense, nerve-wracking waiting, the door swung open, and his mom, back from her night shift, greeted him with a smile. “What are you doing up so late?”\nBilly’s eyes were filled with tears. “I’ve… I’ve been having these terrible nightmares. I accidently had some of the casserole, and… and…”\nBilly’s mom shook her head. “Billy. You haven’t been having nightmares. You ARE the nightmares.”\nBilly’s mom’s head exploded into a writhing snake with matted, wet hair and a venomous bite. Her arms twisted into laughing clown heads, while the rest of her body oozed red pus. Billy screamed as it descended upon him.\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. For a few hours, he was too afraid to do anything but silently sob to himself in his bed. He didn’t care anymore, he just wanted the nightmare to be over.\nBilly knew that this was a nightmare. Sure, there were no signs to prove it, but there would be soon. Undoubtedly, there would be soon. Billy ran downstairs, just as his front door opened. “Billy!” said his mother, “what are doing racing around the house at this time of night?”\nBilly ran past his mother, knowing that soon she would become a nightmare. Billy only had one destination: the luger that was hidden deep downstairs, in a safe. Billy knew that if he could get his hands on that gun, he could blow his brains out, and the dream would be over.\nHis mom chased after him, screaming things that his mother would scream, like “Get back here, Billy!”,”You should be in bed by now!”, “You ate the casserole, didn’t you?” and “Where are you going?” Billy made her no mind, and headed into the basement.\nHe spotted the safe. Billy’s mom couldn’t keep up with him, and was now only walking after him. It would give him enough time to do what he needed to do.\nBilly knew the combination to the safe, although his mom thought that he didn’t. The luger was his father’s, and now he planned on putting it to use. His inputted the combination, and took the gun out of its place, right as his mother burst through the door to the basement.\n“Billy!” she cried, tears welling up in her eyes, “Put that gun down this insant! NOW! NOW!”\nBilly wouldn’t fall for her tricks. He placed the gun to his temple and closed his eyes. “BILLY!” yelled his mother, frantically. “NO! NO!”\nBilly pulled the trigger. The bullet went clean through his brain, and his lifeless body fell to the floor.\nBilly’s mom collapsed to her knees and cried, reflecting on what a royally idiotic idea keeping the luger downstairs and assuming Billy didn’t know about it was. After hours of crying, she phoned the police.\nThe police showed up, asked her questions, and took her into custody. Billy’s body was sweeped up, and would be put into the newspaper. People from all over the world would wonder what brought this boy to such a tragic end.\nAw, who are we kidding.\n~\nBilly awoke with a start. He rubbed his temple and sighed. “That is it,” he said, “No more God damned tuna casserole before bed.”", "Credit: Greg", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Don’t See It	https://www.creepypasta.com/dont-see-it/	8.17	March 31, 2013	299	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I’ve been thinking of him-er-her (it?) for the past week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve barely eaten anything. I quit my job. Or stopped going to work is more like it. I assume I’m no longer employed there. My eyes are sunken in. I sit at my computer day and night mindlessly trying to keep myself entertained…or awake, more importantly. For if I sleep I’m afraid I may never wake up. I’m afraid he-she- or it will get me. I don’t know what I mean by “get”. I don’t believe it was out to get anything or anyone anyway. Either way, it hasn’t left my mind since that night. And I’m afraid it never will. Afraid. I haven’t been so afraid in ages. Not since I was a child.", "Coffee, energy drinks, and leftover Halloween candy have all worn out their welcome. I’m simply typing to stay awake now. I don’t know what else to do. Every time I shut my eyes I see it. It’s not threatening. It’s not even angry. But its mere presence in general sends shivers down my spine. I have thoughts running rampant in my head. I figured the only way to have some sort of peace is to type them out here. Afterall, it seems I have no other choice. It’s nearly 4 o’clock in the morning. My apartment is quiet. Nothing can be heard but the gentle hum of the refrigerator. It’s somewhat soothing.", "So I shall explain this experience of mine. Just to get it out there. Out of my head. Perhaps whoever shall read it will understand what exactly happened. Or at least take solace in what I seen. Because I, for one, am still not exactly sure if the whole thing was real or imaginary. Perhaps I can get some sleep after all this is said and done.", "I’ve lived in this neighborhood since I was a child. I know it well. After graduating college last year I moved back into the neighborhood into a small apartment with my mother. She’s offering me a place to stay while I buckle down and land a career job that pays decently. Since then I’ve been looking for a proper place of employment to earn some money in the meantime of looking for a career position. After working a few salesman jobs, my car starting to break down on me because of the long commutes. And I realized I needed a job that was close, seeing as my car was now unreliable. In less than a week I landed a job at a department store connected to the local shopping mall just minutes away from me. Retail wasn’t a particular interest of mine because I’m such an introvert, but I needed some sort of income. Even if this position just earned me minimum wage. In the meantime I junked my car and used the profit to buy a bicycle and put the remainder of the money in my savings.", "It didn’t take long for me to begin loathing this job. I was out of place. I was working in a department store that was catered towards ladies. My coworkers and managers were a bunch of middle aged suburban women with chips on their shoulders. Nobody spoke to me or even knew my name for the 3 months and 12 days I worked there. I was fed up with the situation, but I tried to look at the bright side of things: it was the most local job I’ve ever had. Not having to pay for car insurance and gas saved me a lot of money. And the hours were decent and the shifts were short.", "This particular night in question, the night that keeps repeating in my head, happened a little over a week ago. It was a Friday. I was closing that night, and I knew we were going to get out late. The customers trashed the store and for some reason we stayed open until 11 pm even though the mall closed at 9 and our business hours on our doors clearly say 10. I counted down my register at closing time and began to help the other coworkers organize and clean the according departments. I remember it being an eerily quiet night. When the store closes, most of the lights go off but the music continues to play while we restock and clean. This night no music played. The store was dark and silent. It wasn’t necessarily eerie, but set the tone for the rest of the evening. I started off in the small men’s section seeing as that was the only place I was comfortable (I was often forced to fold women’s panties. Quite awkward) and began to fold the graphic t-shirts since it looked like a tornado hit the area. After fixing up the entire department, I took at quick glance at my watch and seen it was nearly midnight. Usually we finish up by then and a manager comes over the PA system to tell us to clock out. I straightened up the nearby appliances department when, like clockwork, the manager announced to finish up and clock out.", "Usually 7 or 8 workers close the store each night and this night was no different. We all headed into the break room where the manager has a quick run through with us before we can clock out and leave for the night. I believe the run through consists of whether the store made it quota in credit, sales, and whatnot but to be honest I never pay attention. I usually just check my phone (which was nearly dead) and position myself near the punch out system so I can leave.", "When all was said and done, we clocked out and everyone went to the parking lot to go home for the evening. I neglected to mention that this certain department store is 2 levels. Everyone parks on the 2nd floor entrance because that’s where the main offices and schedules are. I, on the other hand, have my bike chained to the bike rack on the first floor. So I separate by myself and go my own separate way. I don’t feel like I even belong at this company, so it’s very fitting for me to end my day by walking alone from the group to my destination. Anyway, I take the escalator down and exit the now empty store on the first level parking structure. Seeing as it’s after midnight, the mall is deserted and the lights are off. I stand outside for a second and zip up my hoodie. It’s an unnaturally quiet night. And chilly, which is typical for fall weather here. I glance at the strip mall across the street and notice a seasonal Halloween store. A banner drapes across the foundation reading “Halloween City”. The windows filled with intimidating outlines, severed limbs, and psychotic clown masks. I grin as I walk to the nearby bike rack wondering what I can be for Halloween this year, if anything. Perhaps my girlfriend and I could do a couple costume thing.", "As I ponder this I unlock my bicycle, put on my hat, and hop on. I slowly begin to peddle down the sidewalk but it doesn’t take long for me to realize that the bike isn’t picking up. I glance down and notice my front tire is flat. I quickly look at the rear tire. Flat. I hop off and inspect the tires. Did I run over glass or a bottle on the way to work? I certainly didn’t think so. Nor do I have the money to replace the tires on a bike that I just bought a couple months back. As I try to deduce every possible reason why these tires are flat I see that the air caps are missing. Did I lose them? Did someone steal them? Who would steal 2 little air caps?! Regardless, I wasn’t getting home on my bike. Home was only a 20 minute walk or so, but it was the wind chill that would make it so unpleasant. So I walked my bike out of the dark parking garage and into the cold silent night. The second I exited the chilly air hit me in the face and the wind picked up. Groaning in displeasure, I tightened my fleece lined hood and pulled down my sleeves to cover my hands. Just for kicks, I hopped on my bike once more and peddled a few feet with false hope. But I felt if I rode it anymore I would severely damage the tires. So I bundled up and endured my cold bike walk.", "I walked down what is commonly a busy street towards home, but tonight there wasn’t a car in sight. Street lights changed for invisible drivers and no pedestrians could be spotted blocks down. Like I mentioned earlier, I grew up in this neighborhood and knew it very well. Since it was so cold I decided to cut through some back streets so I wouldn’t be as uncomfortable. Not to mention walking down a main street always made me feel as if I were on display. I decided this out loud to myself, as I usually do when I’m alone, and kept the conversation going. I came to the end of the mall block and figured I’d cut through the delivery alley that leads away from the businesses and to an actual neighborhood. The 2 story shopping mall building and abandoned bank makeup the delivery alley. It’s a long dimly lit strip that would have me heading away from the major street and to a secluded neighborhood. This particular alley may come off as a bit menacing to some. The street is cracked and lined with rat traps and dumpsters. Only 4 or 5 yellowish lamps hang from atop the 2nd story of the shopping mall creating a few spotlights of sorts between the darkness. But I knew this town. It wasn’t a great neighborhood. A lot of theft and robberies. But to be honest I wasn’t the most innocent looking person either and I’m not easily intimidated. Maybe it was that attitude that led me to this in the first place.", "As I slowly walk and continue the conversation with myself I approach the corner of the delivery alley. I turn myself, bike inhand, into the alleyway and continue my unwanted stroll. As I look up I notice a figure a little more than halfway down the alley. I stop in my tracks merely because I don’t want to intimidate the person. A bearded guy like me with my hood up walking down a dark alley doesn’t necessarily paint a good picture for that person. I might just cut around the block. It isn’t too much of a troubling detour afterall. As I look on, I notice the figure’s back is towards me and we’re heading in the same direction. I wait until they walk under a lamp so I can make out exactly what kind of person it is. I may look intimidating, but maybe they do too. And if that’s the case, I’ll take the detour. Better safe than sorry. I realize that they’re walking quite slowly. Maybe walking isn’t the right word. I think hobbling better fits what they were doing. Anyway, in what seems like minutes they finally step into the spotlight ahead. The light illuminates their body. The light reveals something disturbing to me. I catch a glimpse and immediately see what looks like a senior citizen completely nude wandering the streets. The body looks stumpy and decrepit. The back is arched and the skin is wrinkled and loose. One arm looks to be folded in as the other just hangs at their side. Their walk, if I can even call it that, is more of a stagger now. Like every step is taking much effort. And they move at an extremely slow pace. For some reason I immediately thought it was an old woman. And my mind went to the retirement home just a couple blocks behind me. Perhaps she wandered out in the middle of the night? She could be senile. That explains her having no clothes. I pulled out my phone and tried to light up the screen. But, alas, dead battery. That’s normal for that to happen to my phone when I work a long shift. I look around and notice not a single vehicle or pedestrian but me and this old woman. So I tuck my dead phone away and slowly walk into the delivery alley. Curiosity outweighing any other reasoning.", "I walked at a slow pace, yet I seemed to be getting closer no matter how much I tried to keep my distance. This woman seemed to be completely unaware of my presence. As I got closer, I got a better look at what I was following. I remember in detail. Their shoulders were slanted and boney. The spine seemed like it was nearly protruding from the body in a bent fashion. Their neck was nearly horizontal and their head hung in a vulture like manner. The body seemed to be stricken with overbearing arthritis. It was then I realized I was nearly halfway through the alley. My bike chain making steady clicks with every step I walked. Yet this being was still unaware. I wasn’t scared as much as I was intrigued. I wasn’t intimidated by this person. If anything, I felt remorse for it. I continued to follow it down the alleyway and get closer and closer. I soaked in more details. Its skin was thin and wrinkled. It was covered in dark liver spots, moles, and a generous amount of spider veins. It hung over what seemed to be its brittle skeletal structure. The legs were nearly rail thin and trembled with every step. From the arm hanging at its side, the fingers were abnormally long and the nails yellowed. The night was still as silent as ever. I had to be nearly 8 or 9 feet behind the figure. As I got closer, I began to hear a wheezing. It was soft but bizarrely unique. It instantly reminded me of the noise tubes I would sometimes get when I was a child. The tubes that you would flip back and forth and it would make a peculiar noise. As I continued walking behind the hunched figure, I began to make out a head. From where I was it looked like it was hairless, which made me think it was a male of some sort. I began to veer off to the side to try and get a distant profile look. I almost wanted it to notice me. As I got to my desired position I glanced and seen that its head was abnormally long and protruding. I was instantly reminded of the head of a dog. It’s ears were almost elf like but drooping in a downward position. It had what looked to be a cone like snout with a mouth gaping open to reveal a somewhat forced smile, as If it had been posing for a family photograph for much too long. Its eyes were large and black and seemed to be positioned on the side of the head.", "After taking in its facial features and reinspecting its contorted body, my brain made the connection that this can in no way be a human being. It seemed like it took me much too long to realize that. That’s when the sudden rush of fear took over my body. I’d maybe only been in this alleyway for under 2 minutes but it felt like a lifetime. I slowed my walk and positioned myself behind this creature. I noticed we were almost at the end of the alleyway with one final spotlight ahead. I started to breathe faster and shake. And that wasn’t because of the cold. I was only 5 feet or so behind the creature when I thought if I should just run in the opposite direction as fast as I could. I was stuck in a dark alley feet behind something I couldn’t identify with an unridable bike to slow me down. I tried to think of a way out as I almost methodically kept my stride.", "When suddenly, the creature stopped.", "I halted as quietly as I could. There, it stood shivering in the final spotlight of the streetlamp. Its knotted frame and wilting skin on display closer to me than ever. Its thin contorted legs slightly shaking at the knees. It head facing downward. It’s wheezing much louder.", "It felt like hours, but I probably just froze there for a few seconds. I didn’t think. But I had to do something. I had to leave. So I took a deep breath, clasped my handle bars, and began to slowly walk forward trying not to think of what I could be encountering. I stepped beside the creature . I kept my head down, but when I was adjacent with it, I couldn’t help but peer out of the corner of my eye. It stood in silence. I stared at its small yellowish sugar cube like teeth peeking out of it panting mouth. And then our eyes met. Its large black eyes revealed what looked like cataracts under the harsh streetlight. It couldn’t look me in the eyes for more than a second or so. It almost seemed embarrassed of itself. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for this…creature. As soon as I passed my line of sight with it I tried to convince myself to just slowly walk away back towards it. But I could only keep up that act for a few seconds and ended up dashing across the street to a nearby neighborhood sidewalk. I took several deep breaths and turned around towards the alley. I was at, what I felt was, a safe distance. And even though I was trembling and scared out of my mind of what I just encountered, I stood at that sidewalk for nearly ten minutes in darkness and silence waiting for the creature to emerge from the delivery alley. But it never came out.", "Looking back I don’t know why I didn’t just glance down the alley from a long distance to find that distinct and distraught shadowy figure. I must’ve figured enough was enough and I wanted needed to go home. But getting home didn’t help as I couldn’t sleep. I still can’t sleep. I also can’t find any fact as to what I actually encountered that Friday night. I part of me wants to go back to that alley one night. Just to see if we’d cross paths again. But on the other hand the vibe that creature seemed to give off was that of shame and embarrassment. As if being seen was punishment enough.", "For the both of us it seems.\nCredit To – CMP", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Stair Steps	https://www.creepypasta.com/stair-steps/	5.05	March 30, 2013	299	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "I’m truly sorry that you had to end up here, but I do suppose that I am sort of glad you did… in my own strange way. I normally don’t like being around people, but recently I’ve been wishing to chat with someone to the point that it’s almost been suffocating. Would you like a drink? Here I have a Sweedish vodka, some very nice dry white wine, spiked lemonade if you’d like something sweeter, and look! Australian red wine… one of my favorites! Though you may think me morbid for saying so, red wine reminds me of blood. I know what you’re thinking, red wine is not really blood-red so much as it is garnet. But for some reason the subject of blood slips into my head every time I pop the cork off of a sleek bottle of delicious red wine.", "What is it about blood anyway? It is used in every horror story, gushing oozing splashing pouring and drenching. Monstrous tales always have an annoyingly exaggerated surplus of blood. Blood makes people uneasy… it makes the weak of heart faint and squeal, but for what reason? What is blood but a liquid concoction, an oxygen transporting juice that is pumped through our system to sustain our brain, and yet it causes so much terror. Why? I just don’t get human beings, I don’t understand them at all. It’s a good thing I am beyond a human being. I’m nothing close to a god of course… but I’m certainly no human being. Granted I was one at a point in time, but I suppose intelligence has brought me upward a stair step or two. Though you may think of me to be conceited, I sense that you aren’t too far away from climbing a step yourself. It’s truly a shame, there just aren’t enough people like you in the world, and of all the places you could be you just had to end up here. It is a true shame, if I was more patient with the universe or if you had confronted me a few years before now I just might have shown you how to move upon the stair steps. It really is a pity. Well, on a somewhat related note to the subject of blood we were previously discussing, isn’t red a pretty color? I mean, blood turns brownish and crusty eventually, but the crimson is so lovely while it lasts! Scarlet is my second favorite color, right above a warm grey, and right below iris blue.", "Speaking of blue… (please excuse me, but the florescent color has boarded me upon another train of thought I wish to discuss) What are eyes?: gorgeously complex organs that transform particles of energy into attainable images. But I have to admit to the awesome nature of eyes, I even have an established theory that It’s not the universe in and of itself, but instead it’s the eyes we own that contain all beauty. If your interested I have recently published a book called “Clouds or Ceilings,” that briefly discusses this theory. Have you read it before? no? Oh, what a shame, It would have been a nice read for someone like you. I would even go so far as to say it would have helped you climb a stair step.", "Where was I?… eyes, now I remember, as beautiful as they may be they are only organs! And somehow organs, those simple pieces of wonderfully functional flesh, are another overused prod in a cliche attempt to expel horror. Intestines strewn, guts hanging out of corpses, but mostly it’s the eyeballs hanging out of the sockets. Why? What’s the big deal about eyes? They aren’t horrific, they’re beautiful, even when displaced. They’re like the gemstones within the dull hunk of granite we call a skull. So don’t worry, I assure you that I am not so cruel as to deprive someone of their eyes while they still breath, I’m a gentleman… at least I try to be a gentleman. Some people still insist that I am only odd… and many of the people that have stumbled into your exact same position have insisted that I’m insane, but I have no worries. Odd people always think of the normal as odd while the idiotic make out the intelligent to be idiots and the insane see the rational in the same manner that the rational see the insane. Only God can distinguish us, and until then we can only attempt to figure each other out on our own… a very risky measure indeed with plenty of variables that lend themselves to mistakes. In fact, my supposition about your high intelligence that I laid on the table a short while ago might have been totally false, you just might be the same imbecilic human being that continues to turn every nook of the world into a putrid and unlivable mess. That’s why I contain myself here. Do you see now? This is why I live here in solitude, I must keep myself above humanity. To keep my mind preserved have to keep this place clean of any insanity or idiocy, I must keep it clean. I’m sorry, but I can’t take any chances, I must escort you out.", "But first, one more question: why is it that most humans don’t like to be removed while they call the ones that remove themselves unstable or even insane. Stupid creatures, I’m sure that any other plane of reality would be better than this one, please don’t tell me you are so dull as to be afraid of what’s over and beyond the dingy wall of reality! Then again, you may only be afraid of the process of being escorted out, in which case I shall make the path to infinity as smooth as possible… out of courtesy. Good day, and good luck my dearest friend. I’d join you, but I can’t… I must stay here and keep my household clean for as long as possible as I climb these stairs.", "Step…\nby step…\nby step…\nby sweet, solitary step.", "Credit To – MollyKittyKat", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Tunnels	https://www.creepypasta.com/tunnels-2/	8.39	March 29, 2013	300	[ "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "Before I begin, there are two pieces of information you must consider.", "Have you ever noticed that whenever a mirror is reflected into another mirror, after multiple reflections it begins to fade into a darker and greener infinity? The mirror can be cracked or completely unblemished; it simply does not matter. The light will always disappear and greenify the deeper the reflection tunnel runs. It is not wise for one to purposely create these tunnels, but for the curious, which I’m assuming you are, they are at least very interesting.", "Secondly, yes, you’re doppelganger does live as your immediate reflection on the surface of the mirror. The good news is they are harmless. They live as you do, as clueless to as you when they see you in their reflection. Why should they question your intentions when they have none themselves? They live with as much or as little peace as you do in a single reflection.", "It need not matter the day, place, or position of the moon for this to occur, though the darker it is, the easier it is for them to approach. It would also be a good idea to note the precise time at which you begin for reasons that will be made clear later. You must have two large mirrors facing each other with roughly one meter between them. Stand between them, and do not make a sound. In fact, the location you choose must be free from any extraneous noise. This is of the most upmost importance. They frighten easily, especially in the beginning. You must be able to see your entire reflection in the mirror you decide to face.", "Count as many frames as you possibly can over your reflection’s shoulder until the greenness and darkness swallows the last remnants of the reflection. Depending on the amount of light in your location, this should take anywhere from ten to twenty minutes. Feel free to take your time. As your eyes strain to count the last visible frame, you should notice pale shapes emerge in the furthest green of the mirror tunnel before they retreat into their infinity again. This may just be a trick of the mind at first, but slowly you will begin to see them more and more frequently. Once they begin appearing at more and more regular intervals, you may notice an uneasy expression appear on your reflection’s face although you may feel your own face at ease. Step out from between the mirrors immediately at this point, exit the room you were in, and lock the door behind you. They have awakened.", "If on the second day you feel as curious as the first, you may repeat the same process as described above. It must begin at the exact same time you had started the previous day, hence having write it down. Those things that you may have glimpsed at for only a few seconds may reappear more readily if you have earned their favor. Your reflection may appear a bit shaken, but that is only a trick of the mind and nothing you need to worry about. Once you have finished counting back as many frames as possible, blink only once to refocus yourself. You should not close your eyes again, not that you actually could if you wanted to. You may begin to notice that they appear not only in the darkest frame of the tunnel, but now in closer frames. You can’t make out anything that could be considered a face, give or take the blur of what could resemble teeth.", "Don’t let your curiosity blind you. Looking for human similarities in them is fruitless, even though you will continue to try to understand them. If ever they appear in any frame less than 6 away from your own reflection, they have become too comfortable with you and you with them. They have become too beautiful to ignore. You have become too focused on them to notice your own reflection, pointing, warning you about the thing reaching through the mirror behind you.", "Credit To – MichiganAM1", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Hitchhiker	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-hitchhiker/	6.68	March 28, 2013	300	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I said solemnly as I pulled up in front of my friend’s house. She dug her phone from her purse and waved it at me.\n “Call me now, and I’ll stay on the phone with you until you get home. Don’t be scared. There isn’t anything in the dark that isn’t in the light.”\n I had always hated driving from her house to mine at night. We both lived on the back roads. There were no streetlights, and the trees masked the moon. I nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the passenger side door. She waved her phone at me again with a smile as she slammed the door shut, leaving me alone in the car. I hurriedly fished around in my purse for my own phone as she disappeared into her house. Once I found it, I called her and pulled away.\n “Heeyyyy!” She chirped.\n “I hate my life.” I moaned.\n “You’ll be fine. Why do we have to live on such creepy roads?”\n “I don’t know. Maybe we should both move into town.” I joked.\n “Maybe we should just move in together and not worry about driving at all.” She replied with a giggle.\n I sped along the curvy road, narrowly missing an opossum that was lounging on the shoulder. We spent a good ten minutes talking about random things to keep my mind off of the drive. I kept checking behind me in the back seat periodically which, in hindsight, wasn’t a wise thing to do while speeding down a dark, curvy road while on the phone.\n I turned a sharp curve, and approached a piece in the road we referred to as “the roller coaster”. It was a straight stretch with large bumps that made your belly flip when you went over them at a certain speed. My friend was in the middle of explaining her television show to me when my phone cut out. This was not a good time for me to drop a call. “The roller coaster” was dark and uninhabited with a large tree covered hill on one side, and a dark drop off on the other. I knew I wouldn’t keep service through the entire trip home, but loosing service at this particular location was a worst case scenario. I waited hopefully for her to call me back, since it was more dangerous for me to shuffle through my contacts on this road.\n I glanced at my phone to see if she was calling yet. I still didn’t have service. When I glanced back up at the road, I saw a tall dark figure. I cursed, swerved, and slammed on my breaks to avoid hitting what I believed to be a man. I stopped my car completely and looked around. Not seeing anyone, I decided it was my eyes playing tricks on me after looking at a bright phone screen, and I continued driving.\n Once I got passed “the roller coaster” my phone began to vibrate. I answered and it was my friend.\n “Sorry, I lost service.” I said.\n “It’s all good. Where you at now?”\n “Just passed the roller coaster. Almost on the main road.”\nThere was a stretch of road that was maybe a mile long that I considered a main road, even though it was really just a more populated back road. I prayed silently to encounter another car, although that was unlikely at two in the morning.\n “You’re almost there. You got this!” She said encouragingly.\n I drove across a bridge, and reluctantly turned and crossed the train tracks onto my road. My road was another dark, uninhabited back road that was about four miles long.\n As soon as I took the first curve I lost service again. This time, however, I shouldn’t have dropped the call quite yet. I didn’t want to glance at my phone again after my last experience, so I hoped that my friend realized that I shouldn’t have lost service yet. Apparently she didn’t. I waited and waited but there was no call.\n I was to a point in the road that was always overly dark. Even during the day, it made me feel uneasy due to two obviously vacant trailers situated overly close to the road.\n With my peripherals, I saw another tall shadow by the road not even two feet from my car. I glanced in my rear view mirror, and saw nothing. When my eyes darted back onto the road, I saw him. He was the size of a taller gentleman, cloaked in shadow. The only features I could see on his darkened face were the glimmer of his eyes. He stood close by the road in the curve that I was about to inevitably pass through. He slowly lifted a dark arm and I could see that his thumb was pointed upward.\n I tried my best to focus on the road as I sped like a bat out of hell around the curve. I could have swore I heard a low, deep, monotone voice behind me say, “Drive carefully.” I looked in my rear view mirror, and briefly thought I saw a dark shadow in my back seat. I whirled around and saw nothing but a bunch of old clothes and empty McDonalds bags that I had tossed back there carelessly. I turned back to face the road, and sped the entire way back to my house.\n I haven’t driven alone at night on those roads since.", "I will tell you now, this story is true. You can say it was my imagination, but I’ve driven those roads at night scared out of my wits more than once. That was the first time I saw anything abnormal, and the last time I will EVER drive those roads in the dark. My friend can drive herself from now on. I am done. I should also tell you, and this may very well be unrelated to what I saw that night, but the next morning my husband was walking up the road, and saw a large crudely sharpened butcher knife at the end of our driveway.", "Credit To – TheRadHatter", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Facebook Chat	https://www.creepypasta.com/facebook-chat/	7.04	March 27, 2013	300	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I met James Vickers when we were both about 12. We were next door neighbours, and I had been out in my back yard playing soccer by myself, kicking the ball against the fence. It was at this point I met James. It took me a little while to notice his little spectacled face peering down at me from his bedroom window. When I spotted him, I waved. He waved back and opened his window to talk to me.", "We spoke about lots of things. Interests, favourite food, favourite video games- all sorts. I asked James if he would like to come to my house and play soccer with me. He politely declined, and told me that he suffered terribly with Asthma- among other illnesses, and that his parents absolutely refused to let him out of the house, or let anyone in. He instead asked me if I had a Facebook account and said he would add me on that.", "I checked my Facebook later that night, accepted James’ friend request and we got chatting. And from that day, that’s pretty much how our friendship went. I would head off to school in the morning, finish up, come home and get straight on Facebook to speak with James. That’s the way it was for about 5 years. Unfortunately though, James’ illnesses got the better of him one day, and he grew very sick.", "The inevitable happened though. I hadn’t spoken to James on Facebook for a few days. I had spent some time in my back garden too, waiting for him to open the window and let me know that he was fine. He never did. Instead his father came to my house one evening and presented me with a small invite to a funeral. “He told us about how much you both had in common.” His father told me. “You were his only friend as far as we know.”", "The funeral was very touching. I did my best to hold back my tears, but completely lost it when Fields of Gold by Sting was played as they took James’ casket away. After the funeral in his honour still dressed in my suit, I had a bit of a kick around with the same soccer ball I had when I first met James and had a beer in the back garden. It felt weird knowing that the room he used to speak to me from was now empty and unoccupied.", "As sad as I felt, I knew he was in a better place. A place where his afflictions would no longer bother him. His death had come so sudden though. The funeral just hadn’t done it for me. Perhaps I needed some kind of closure just to let me know that James was truly gone, and wasn’t coming back. So that night, I logged on to Facebook once more, opened up a chat box to James’ account and typed “Hello James”. At this point I realised how silly I was being, and promptly deleted the message before settling down in bed. I left the computer on, just in case any of my other friends sent me any messages.", "Something then happened that sent a chill up my spine. The only light in the room was being emitted from the computer screen, and as I peered across the room at James’ still open chat box, I saw the words “James is typing…”", "Credit To – Cooperwithacamera", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The House	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-house/	6.95	March 26, 2013	300	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "When I was four years old, and playing around in my new neighborhood, I had an experience that I would never forget for the rest of my life.\nWhile walking down my street, I couldn’t help but notice a strange-looking house. It was made of mottled black and white bricks, with tall sharp spires reaching into the sky. Gray curtains were pressed against the windows, and the yard was filled with untended, dying trees. As I was walking past the house, I felt an inexplicable feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can’t explain it, even now, but it felt like a dark aura was pushing against the very soul of my body, dragging me to the house like a monster would toward its lair.\nAs I slowly began walking, I started to notice doves flying into the dead trees. The birds were driving themselves beak first into the trunks, and I could hear a snapping sound come from the doves’ necks as they fell to the ground. I started panicking, but my body didn’t respond. I tried shouting out, but my mouth wouldn’t move. I was moving ever so slowly toward the house. Finally, what seemed like eternity, I edged close enough to the door, and rang the doorbell. The sound that issued was like a scream from a ghost, so loud and terrible it pierced my eardrums, and put me in a state of terror unknown since I was born. I thought about all the wonderful moments I had in my life, the moments shared with my sister and brother. I thought about the joyful experiences I shared with my parents and grandparents. I thought about my ungratefulness toward my family, how I got myself into this terrible mess, and what I would do to get out of it. I started sobbing inside, and before I knew it, the door slowly creaked open. By this time I thought whatever inside was some sort of demon, ready to tear my insides out with its jagged teeth and roast them in the fireplace to eat. But in the house, most surprisingly, was a nice-looking old woman, dressed in white. She had a kindly old face, full of wrinkles, and pure white hair. Her face was glowing, and amiable smile gave me such warmness that the feeling in my stomach dissipated, and I was left in control of my own body again.", "“Why hello there, dear,” the old woman crooned, “Do you live in this neighborhood? Why don’t you come on in? You look as though you’ve been scared out your wits!”\nWithout further ado, she gently took my shoulders and pushed me inside the house. The interior looked like something from a fairytale wonderland: The walls were painted with drawings of deer and horses that seemed to come to life before your very eyes. Candles scattered around lit the place with a cozy feeling. The entire house, it seems from where I stood, was filled with evergreen trees, and dark-green grass was growing beneath my shoes. I took a step forward, gaping with my mouth open at the sudden change of scenery.\n“Yes, yes. I get that look from almost every child that passes through my house…” she mused as she hobbled into the kitchen. “Wait in the living room, my dear. I’ll be back with some freshly baked cookies!”\nAlthough I was prone to listening to instructions, curiosity got the better of me. I decided to explore the house. And that decision saved my life.\nProwling around, I noticed a staircase that went upstairs. Quietly, I tiptoed to the second floor. Here, I noticed a long corridor that stretched to the other side of the house. Along it lay countless doors. I tried the first one, which was firmly locked shut. After walking a few steps, I somehow tripped, and that’s where I saw it. A door to my left, that was open with an infinitely small crack. A strong, unusual smell came from the room. I got up from my knees and pushed the door wide open. Inside were dead bodies of children. Each holding a half-eaten cookie.\nI felt as though my gasp could be heard all across the house. With a beating heartbeat, I ran as quietly as I could along the corridor, and down the stairs. Just as I reached the door, a hand pressed firmly on my shoulder. I turned around to see the old woman, with large, blue eyes staring right into me.\n“Why sweetie,” said the old lady, “Your cookies are done! You can’t leave until you’ve had a bite.”\nI stammered, “N-no thanks. I have to g-go back home.” I shook off the woman’s hand and opened the door.\nSuddenly, with the speed of a cheetah, she slammed the door shut with her left hand. The house darkened for a split second. “Take a cookie,” smiled the lady, holding a platter of them.\nLeft with no choice, I took one.\n“Now eat it,” said the lady.\nAs I raised the cookie up to my mouth, I ran various scenarios through my head. Only one idea stuck. When you do brave things, that’s when it really matters.\nWith as much power as a four-old could muster, I threw my cookie right into the lady’s face. As she shrieked, I quickly opened the door, and ran like I never ran across the yard with the dead doves, until I reached the street of my neighborhood. From there, I sprinted back home, where I collapsed onto our front porch and started to weep.", "When I told my parents what happened, they didn’t believe me. They insisted it was a daydream, and that I imagined the whole thing. They took me across to the street, much to my protest, to prove their point. And I could not prove them wrong, because that strange-looking house was not there anymore.", "Credit To – narkuga", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Sleepover	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-sleepover/	7.55	March 25, 2013	300	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I was always known as the weird girl; the one with no friends, strict parents, and strange habits. I was an outcast in part because I ate hot sauce sandwiches and sleepwalked. School days were long and torturous. There was nothing good about middle school. The worst part was definitely the ridicule from the “popular” crowd. They roamed the school in a pack, infecting others with their hatred and prejudice. I tried to avoid them, but they always tracked me down. They could have been bloodhounds. As fate would have it, one school day I met a new girl, Ella. The best part about her was that she had no clique, yet. All the groups were vying for her attention. She was everything the popular crowd wanted: outgoing and fashionable. Ella was relatively good at sports, which left the jocks clamoring for her attention. She was also apparently rather intelligent, so the nerds stared longingly at her, hoping that the force would bring her to their side. However, one day at lunch, she sat down with me. At first I thought she was going to try and take my sandwich, so I smiled to myself, imagining what a surprise she’d get if she ate it. When she actually introduced herself to me, I was even overjoyed. I had made contact with a human and I still had my wonderfully delicious hot sauce sandwich. Over the next few weeks, we would become friends. Finally one day she said, “Want to come over to my house for a sleepover, Chloe?” I didn’t know how to reply, I had never been asked to a sleepover before. That was something for people with friends. “Let me ask my mom.” I replied, the typical answer of a twelve year old. It took some begging and persuading for my mom to allow me to go. She kept saying that I would scare my first friend away if she found me sleepwalking in her house. I wasn’t too worried about it, though.", "Finally, I was at my first sleepover. Ella and I watched movies, giggled and built a fort. It all seemed like something out of a movie. Around two in the morning, we had the bright idea to film a vlog entry. Sitting on our makeshift beds, we chattered away at the camera until we slowly dozed off into a land of sleep. When we arose the next morning, we realized we had left the camera on all night, filling up its memory. “Let’s watch our vlog entry now!” exclaimed Ella, still a bit groggy. I yawned, about to agree with her and stretched. I felt really sore, like I had been working out. Suddenly I realized that I must have sleepwalked during the night—that was the cause of my soreness. “No, actually, let’s not watch it now. Let’s wait until high school graduation to watch it. It will remind us of what we were like when we were this age.” Ella reluctantly agreed.", "It was four years later and so much had changed. I was no longer the outcast, Ella and I had acquired a large group of friends that seemed to be ever expanding. Sleepovers were now a regular occurrence, though we had never made another video blog since the very first one. Ella called me the day before high school graduation, “Chloe, let’s have a sleepover and watch our vlog. I’ve been dying to see what ridiculous things we said when we were younger.” I agreed, she wouldn’t abandon our friendship now if she saw me sleepwalking.", "We sat on the couch, buried under blankets, eating popcorn and started the video. Ella and I laughed at how immature and naïve we had been. It brought back good memories. Ella was about to turn the video off after watching us both drift off into sleep. “Wait! Don’t turn it off yet, you’re moving.” I blurted out. We watched to see what she would do. Panic gripped me. Something horrible was about to happen, I just knew it.", "On screen, Ella sat up and stared into the camera. Her eyes were completely white. At that point, I sat up, too. “Ella are you okay?” I asked her in a sleepy voice. Ella continued to stare unblinkingly into the camera, then she blinked. Her eyes turned completely black, she turned her head and stared at me, her eyes eating my soul. Then I heard a noise, like a slow tearing of fabric. Ella fell backwards onto her bed in a pool of warm blood. I watched as her swollen body was torn open from the inside. I was about to scream, when a hand covered in dark hair clawed its way out of Ella’s chest using naught be its long dagger-like fingernails. The hand, dripping in the blood of my friend covered my mouth, stifling my scream. The rest of the beast crawled out of the hole it had ripped open in its host. How this large creature had fit in such a small body bewildered me. It was nearly eight feet tall, with muscular arms that dragged on the ground. It was covered in coarse hair, except for its long tail which was made entirely of rough scales. When it saw me, a smile crept across its face, literally from ear to ear, revealing deadly teeth that cut its own gums and lips. The creature licked its lips with its forked tongue, savoring the taste of its own blood.", "I turned to run, but the creature’s tail caught me and coiled around my body, like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of its pray. It hoisted me up above its head and let out a deep, rumbling throaty laugh that echoed and reverberated across the room. I looked down at my friend, she was just a pile of skin, most of her internal organs were strewn across the bed, though many seemed to be missing, where they went, I had not a clue. “Look at me!” the creature ordered. I gazed down at the blood soaked beast. “You will do.” It chuckled. Lifting up a hand, he sliced my skin with his razor sharp fingernails. The cut spanned from the bottom of my neck to my belly button. Wedging its fingernails in the cut, the creature slowly peeled the wound open, first the left side, then the right, ripping the skin and meat off of my bones. The same tearing noise filled my ears. There was nothing I could do—I was at the mercy of this beast. I looked down, I could see my ribcage and my internal organs which were spilling out of my body. Chuckling, the creature bit off one of its own fingers and used it to scratch my heart. Leaving the finger nestled in my ribcage, he picked up some of my intestines that had fallen to the ground and placed them back in my body and folded my skin back into place. By simply looking at me, no one would know what horrors had transpired, the cut mark had disappeared. However, I could feel the finger near my heart and it was growing. Soon, it had used many of my organs as fuel for its own growth. It inhabited my body now, not me. I felt the scar on my heart, the poison seeping through my blood. I was not me anymore.", "The creature set me down, “You will not remember this in the morning.” It promised, while lapping up all the spilled blood. It proceeded to pick up Ella’s skin and crawl inside. Looking around, no one would be able to tell what tragedy had taken place that night. There was not even a mark on either Ella’s or my body. I drifted off to sleep. The video ended.", "Ella and I looked at each other, terrified.", "Then we heard it: that slow, ripping noise.", "Credit To – LaurenF", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
By the Fire’s Light	https://www.creepypasta.com/by-the-fires-light/	8.88	March 24, 2013	300	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "“I gotta tell you, Connor, this is one amazing story,” Kurt said, plopping down on the couch next to him. “You’ve got me believing in the boogie man again. I actually checked under my bed last night.”", "Connor laughed, taking the manuscript back. “Well it did take first prize in that contest, so I would hope it’s good.”\nKurt put an arm around Connor’s shoulder and proclaimed to the imagined masses in front of them. “I can see it now, Connor. We’ll both head to college after the summer. You will write an amazing horror film and I will shoot it. It will get wildly popular on YouTube, some Hollywood exec will see it, and we will be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”", "Connor shoved Kurt’s arm off him with a grunt. “Right, just like what happened with these guys whose series you’re showing me. What’s it called again?”", "“Marble Hornets,” Kurt said, pulling out some DVDs. “And, well, they’re not rich and famous yet, but they should be.”", "“And it’s about a tall man or something?” Connor said, settling into the couch.", "“And you call yourself a horror buff,” Kurt said scornfully as he put the first DVD in. “It’s Slender Man. And he’s scary as hell.”", "“We’ll see,” Connor said as the DVD started.", "A few hours later Connor stood up and stretched. “That was surprisingly good,” he said.\n“I know, right?” Kurt said, popping the DVD back out. “Who would’ve thought a tall faceless dude could be so scary?”", "“Not me,” Connor said, turning to look at the clock. “I’m gonna head home. I still have finished packing for our camping trip.”", "“My dad is totally stoked for this,” Kurt said. “I think he’s more excited than I am.”", "Connor laughed. “My dad’s tolerating it. You should have seen all the bug spray he bought.”", "“You want me to drive you home?” Kurt asked as Connor headed for the door.", "“I live three blocks away, I can walk,” Connor said, as he opened the door.", "“I just don’t want to the Slender Man to get you,” Kurt said.", "“Cute,” Connor said as he walked outside. He waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kurt.” Putting his hands in his pockets, he strolled across the lawn and down the street.", "As he walked, Connor’s brain turned over the concept of the Slender Man in his head. Why was he around? What exactly did he do besides stand around menacingly? And more importantly, how would he use him in a story?", "Connor stopped as something black and white flashed by him in his peripheral vision. Heart beating, he turned to look to his right. “Hello?” he said. A click on the pavement behind him made him jump. “Who’s there?” he said, whipping around. A wagging tail greeted his vision and friendly brown eyes. He sighed and laughed at himself. “Hello, Daisy,” he said to the black and white dog in front of him. “Did you jump your fence again?” Daisy just wagged her tail in response. “Come on then,” he said, patting his leg to get her to follow him. “I’ll take you home.”", "The next day Kurt, Connor, and both their dads piled into a Suburban packed tight with camping gear. “Let’s get this trip started!” Kurt hooted from the back seat.\n“All right!” Kurt’s dad said as he turned on the ignition. Connor’s dad grunted in the passenger seat.", "“So, you lose any sleep last night?” Kurt said, shoving Connor.", "Connor yawned. “Yeah, I had more packing to do than I thought.”\nKurt gave an exasperated sigh. “Not that.”\n“What then?” Connor asked, puzzled. “Oh, Slender Man.” He shrugged. “It was good, Kurt.", "Scary even. But I’ve been writing stuff like this for a long time. I know it’s not real.”", "“Killjoy,” Kurt muttered, settling back in his seat.", "They spent the rest of the ride chattering about the park they would be camping in and the college they would be going to. Kurt’s dad piped in enthusiastically about hiking trails and fishing streams, while Connor’s dad told them about his old fraternity days whenever Kurt’s dad stopped for breath.", "They pulled into the state park early in the afternoon and found their campsite. After they set up camp, Kurt grabbed Connor’s arm. “My dad says there’s an awesome hiking trail close by that leads to a nearby lake. Let’s check it out.”", "“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Connor said, sitting on the ground. “I could use a nap.”\n“Connor, come on,” Kurt said tugging on his arm.\n“Stay together,” Kurt’s dad called after them as Kurt bounced off and Connor trudged behind him. Kurt grabbed his pack as he passed his tent.", "“It’s not gonna be that long of a hike, is it?” Connor asked.", "“Be prepared,” Kurt said with a mischievous grin. Connor sighed and grabbed his own pack.", "The trees quickly closed in on them as they walked away from the campsite. “Ooo, he could be here,” Kurt said, spinning around slowly in place.”\n“Uh-huh,” Connor said, slapping at his neck. He was beginning to wish he had grabbed some of his dad’s bug spray.\n“Hey, hold up a second, I gotta take a leak,” Kurt said, shifting his pack and running off into the woods.\n“Kurt, wait, stop!” Connor hollered after him, shifting his own pack. “We’re supposed to stick together!”\n“You wanna watch me pee you perve?” Kurt hollered back.\n“Not particularly,” Connor said to himself leaning against a tree. He sighed as he waited for Kurt.\nA few minutes later, Connor bolted upright when he heard a panicked yell. “Connor, Connor! Get over here, quick!”\nConnor dropped his pack and leaped off the path. “Kurt?” he yelled.\n“Connor!” Kurt yelled back.", "Connor followed the sound of his voice deeper into the woods. “Connor!” Kurt yelled again, close by. Connor rounded a corner and came to a stop as a black and white suit flew at him from high in the air. “Geez,” Connor said, throwing himself backwards. He thrashed for a moment before he realized the suit was empty. He lay back down. “Funny, Kurt,” he said.", "He heard laughter above him and looked up. Kurt was sliding down a nearby tree. “Oh, no, Slender Man doesn’t scare me,” Kurt said, grabbing the suit and stuffing it back in his pack.", "Connor cuffed the back of his head. “I’m going back to camp,” he said. “Come on.”", "Kurt followed him, still giggling. Connor shook his head. “Could you please stop with the giggling? You got me, okay?” Kurt stopped giggling. “Thank you,” Connor said, continuing forward. Then he realized it wasn’t just the giggling that had stopped. Kurt had stopped walking completely.", "Connor turned around. “What now?” he said. Kurt was standing open-mouthed, staring at something behind and above Connor. Connor turned around and looked. Trees, trees, and more trees stood in front of him but nothing else.\n“No,” Kurt whispered. “It can’t be.”", "Connor turned back around. “Look, the suit was funny but you need to knock it off, Kurt.”", "Kurt wasn’t listening to him though. He was slowly backing away with his hands up. “I can see you,” he whispered. “Isn’t that enough?”", "Connor took a step towards Kurt. “Kurt, “ he said slowly, worry creeping into his voice. “What are you talking about?”", "Kurt screamed, high and shrill. It should have been funny. Connor should have been joking about what a little girl Kurt sounded liked. But all Connor could see was they very real terror in Kurt’s eyes as he scrambled backwards, waving at something Connor could not see. “No, no,” Kurt was shrieking, holding up his hands. His eyes locked with Connor’s. “You have to see him,” he screamed. “He says he’ll kill me if you can’t see him!” And then a spurt of red slashed across Kurt’s chest and he screamed again. Connor ran forward then. He couldn’t see what was hurting his friend, but that wound had to come from somewhere.\nBut even as Connor ran forward, Kurt moved back, only Connor wasn’t sure it was under his own power anymore. It was more like he was skidding as someone pushed him. More red slashes appeared on Kurt’s arms and face and he tried to cover himself as his screams grew quieter. “I didn’t believe, not really,” he whimpered. And then a single deep red point appeared in the middle of Kurt’s chest. He gave one final wail, and then fell silent.\nConnor finally caught up with Kurt. He knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. “Kurt, Kurt!” he yelled. Kurt’s body crunched the underbrush and Connor shook him more urgently. “Kurt!” he screamed, his own terror full-throated now. But Kurt didn’t answer. Connor let his hands drop from Kurt and slowly he stood up backing away. There was no doubt in his mind to who the “he” Kurt had been screaming about was, but that wasn’t possible. “You’re not real,” Connor said, voice shaking. But, a squiggling little doubt wormed into his mind. As he backed away, his eyes turned towards the shadows cast by the trees. And then one branch’s shadow seemed to move and snake. And then two. And three. Slowly Connor turned around. A glimpse of black and a head far far too high in the air.", "He didn’t scream again. He was too far gone for that. He just ran, heedless of where he went. He didn’t dare look behind him. He knew, knew that if he did he would be lost. Trees flashed past. His stumbled and fell in a briar patch. Hands stinging he shoved himself up. His knees felt wet. He was bleeding. No time to stop though. Just one breath then the next.\nEventually at the top of a steep incline, he lost his footing and fell. End over end he tumbled, neck turning awkwardly at points, but always stopping just short of a break. He came to a stop on his back and out of breath at the bottom of the hill. He looked up at the sky, dazed, seeing the sunlight patter through the branches above him. He was vaguely aware that he appeared to have landed in a patch of mushrooms, that were now encircling him on all sides. And then, something very thin and very tall moved above him.\nHe was falling again and Connor wondered if he had imagined stopping at the bottom of the hill. But it was dark now. He couldn’t see anything. Just a sensation of weightlessness. He flailed his arms and legs and met nothing.", "Something thin but strong encircled his right wrist. Automatically, he pulled away, but he found he couldn’t move his arm. Whatever was around his wrist was twining its way up his arm. Breathing hard, he pulled with all his might. His left hand felt through the pitch black, scratching and clawing at the thing that was moving up his arm. But it was implacable. Nothing he did stopped it. And then it was on his shoulder and wrapping around his neck. He stiffened, wondering if it meant to choke him. But ,though the tendril was firm, it didn’t crush his neck. It snuck around his head and then he felt, rather than saw, it hover just above his right eye. “No, no, no!” he said as he felt it suddenly plunge forward. Vitreous humor dripped down his cheek, but Connor had scant time to worry about that.", "For as the tendril plunged into his eye, visions began to play in his mind. He saw small children on a playground, laughing and running. But as he watched, it was if the very air grew unstable and it wavered. He felt heat as he had never known, felt his arms breaking into blisters. He heard crackling all around him as if he was sitting in a fireplace, and he prayed that the fire would take him. The laughter of the children melded into screams. Screams of pain and, worse, screams of terror. Something malevolent moved towards them through the flames, something that had come to claim them. They should have died in the flames, should have moved on. But something was holding them back, tying them into this one moment of agony, and holding them there until they forgot they had ever known anything else. And Connor was with them in that moment, held suspended between life and death, and he cried, his tears mixing with the jelly pouring from his right eye.", "Then more tendrils came and shook him, shook him by his shoulders, back and forth. The screaming became deeper and less panicked. And Connor thought this was odd, because he wasn’t screaming anymore, and the kids’ screams had been so high-pitched it was odd to hear such a mature tone coming from them. Had they been trapped here so long they had grown? The shaking came again and Connor heard his name. “Connor, can you hear me?”\nHis eyes flew open and he saw far above him a crescent moon rising above the trees. He bolted up, hand flying to his right eye. It was whole, and as he removed his shaking hand, he found he could see fine. “Connor?” someone questioned next to him, but he ignored it. He pulled his right sleeve up, but his arm was whole and unblemished. Trembling, he tried to stand up, but felt hands pushing him back down, a voice urging him to take it easy. The voice was shouting to others now. Connor turned towards the voice and a small corner of his mind registered that it was his dad who was now hugging him and crying.\n“Dad,” Connor said voice cracking. His dad hugged him tighter as Connor heard other people stumbling down the hill. “Dad,” Connor began again. “Where’s Kurt?”\nHis dad pulled away and looked him in the eye. And Connor knew without a word that Kurt was gone. And he wondered if Kurt was really gone or tied to that one moment where you hung between worlds. Burying his head in his hands, Connor sobbed.", "“Patrick,” somebody said to Connor’s dad as he continued to sob. “They caught the sonuva bitch that killed Kurt.”", "Connor looked up, confused. “But how could you catch him?” he asked. His dad just patted his back and said something about shock. And then firm arms were helping him up and moving him, and Connor, confused, tired, and frightened, let them lead him up the hill and out of the woods.", "* * *\nConnor sighed as he looked out the window. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this is our last visit.” He turned his head to look at the woman behind the desk.\nShe smiled. “Our last scheduled visit. You’ve come a long way from when I first met you. Screaming about the faceless man who killed your friend.”\nConnor sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “It all seemed so real Dr. Kennedy. Sometimes I still see him . . . it in my dreams.”", "“It’s to be expected,” Dr. Kennedy said, folding her hands and placing them on her desk. “You will probably always associate this ‘slenderman’, as you called him, with your friend’s death in some manner. It was easier for your mind to associate the brutal killing of your friend with a monster than with a man. The medication should continue to help with the bad dreams. And if you ever need me, day or night, you can always call.” She opened a drawer on her desk and pulled something out. “By the way, before you go there’s something I would like you to do for me.”", "Connor stood up and walked over to the desk. “What’s that?”", "Dr. Kennedy looked up at him and smiled. “Your book, By the Fire’s Light. Would you sign it for me?”\nConnor laughed as he reached over and slid the book to himself. Dr. Kennedy handed him a pen. “You know, you were right,” he said, as he scrawled his name and a small note of thanks on the inside cover. “Writing it out, the faceless man and the fire and the kids, really did help me to get it out of my head. I didn’t think I’d be turning it into a book when I started.”\n“I think it’s good,” Dr, Kennedy said, taking the book back from Connor. “You’ve taken something destructive in your life and turned it into something constructive.”\n“Just one last thing to do, I guess,” Connor said, looking out the window.\nDr. Kennedy cocked her head. “So you still plan to visit Kurt’s killer today?”\nConnor nodded, still looking out the window. “I just want to hear it from him. Why he did it.”\n“This could be closure you need,” Dr. Kennedy said, standing. Connor turned back to her. “I think it’s a good thing. Just like your book.” She smiled again. “The critics are eating it up from what I’ve seen. It’s starting to sell like wildfire.”", "“Heh, right, wildfire,” Connor said, repressing a small shudder. He reached out a hand. “Well, thanks for everything, doc,” he said.", "Dr. Kennedy took his hand and shook it. “Good luck to you, Connor.”\nFifteen minutes later found Connor on the way to the State Penitentiary. His blue Corolla rolled down the Interstate. A feeling of anxiety had been building in him all day. Normal, he supposed, he was going to confront his friend’s killer. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck again. A flash of black and white next to him on the road made him catch his breath. Checking the rear view mirror, he saw a man in a business suit on the shoulder of the road, looking at a car with smoke pouring from the hood. Connor sighed. “Get a hold of yourself, Connor,” he murmured as he pulled off at his exit. “You’ve just put your life back together.”", "A guard tower, three buzz-ins, and keyless, cell phoneless, and anything that even looked like a weaponless later, Connor sat down in front of a plastic barrier. Next to him was a beige telephone. In front of him was a tall burly man. Jared Holloway, Kurt’s killer. Jared’s hair was practically shaved off with only a small bit of dark fuzz showing. His brown eyes were hard and his fingers gnarled. Jared picked up the phone. Connor did the same.\n“So,” Jared said, a sneer on his face. “I suppose you’ve come to find out why I did it.”\nConnor looked into Jared’s face, at the sneer, the hate. He looked into Jared’s eyes, and saw, just for a moment, a flame flicker in them. “No,” Connor said, surprising himself and Jared. “No,” he said again, wonderingly. He put the phone down for a moment and looked around them. The guards were alert for any wrong-doing but they weren’t really paying attention to what he was saying. He picked the phone up again and turned to Jared. “I want to know why you took the blame.”", "Jared’s eyes widened for a split-second and then narrowed. “What are you still crazy? Crazy as when they found you after I lost you?” He leaned forward. “It’s simple. I took a knife and sliced your friend up. His blood still dripping from my hands, I turned on you and you ran like a little pansy. You got lucky and I lost you. End of story.”\nConnor leaned forward too. “Yes, that’s what you told the cops, the court, everyone.” His eyes locked with Jared’s again. “But it’s not true, is it?” he whispered.", "Jared’s eyes flickered back and forth rapidly. Again, for a second, Connor saw a flame dance in them. Jared closed his eyes and shuddered. “Look,” he rasped, voice low and close to panic. “If I say that’s what happened, it’s what happened.” He shook his head. “I may be on death row, but there are things worse than death.” And then before Connor could say anything else, Jared hung up his phone. Connor sat and watched as the guard took him back and wondered.", "That night Connor sat in his apartment in his small kitchen dining room area. The only light came from a small lamp on the counter. He looked down at the book in his hands and leafed through the pages. Dr. Kennedy was right, it was selling well and his publisher was already clamoring for a sequel. He should be happy. But he was more apprehensive than ever. Putting the book down on the counter, he grabbed a kettle off the stove and filled it with water. He needed to relax. A cup of tea and then bed. Turning back to the stove, he turned it on. It clicked for a moment as it tried to ignite, and then flames shot out it in a gigantic whoosh.", "With a yell, Connor flung himself backwards over the counter. The flames were shooting straight up, impossibly high, licking the wooden cabinet above the stove. The cabinet began to burn, turning black as smoke curled away from it. It was burning as if gasoline had been dumped on the fire, racing across the cabinet door. Connor turned, reaching for his fire extinguisher, and then stopped. In the corner, by the front door, was tall thin space of black that was darker than the surrounding apartment. Connor froze staring at it, even as he felt the heat from the fire behind him lick his back. And then it moved towards him. “No, no,” Connor screamed, bolting towards his bedroom door. He shoved it closed and locked it, for all the good it would do. Even as he closed the door, he could hear the fire whooshing, growing. There was an orange glow coming from the crack beneath the door. Backing away, Connor looked around him. He was on the fourth floor. The only way down was a long jump. He backed against the window. “Why now,” he whispered. “Why have you come?”\nThere was no answer as the door crackled and the room began to fill with smoke. Vaguely Connor was aware that smoke alarms were going off and that people in the hall were running for the fire escape. But more importantly he was aware that flames were licking through the door now and in the smoke he could see dancing tendrils weaving in through the cracks.\nWith sudden resolve he lifted the window. “You may have taken them,” he said, turning to the door one more time. He climbed up into the window as a business suit came into view, smoke and flame obscuring his view so he couldn’t tell if the tie was red, or just black reflecting the flame’s light. “But you won’t take me.” And then he pushed backwards, not daring to look below him.", "Wind whistled in his ears as he fell. Connor didn’t feel fear. Instead he felt a certain giddiness. And when what looked like a head popped out of his window, he waved cheerily for just a second before his body hit the concrete sidewalk. There was jarring pain all through him and stars flooded his vision. “At least I get to leave,” he thought, hearing screams and running feet distantly. And then he thought no more.", "Credit To – Star Kindler", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Company	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-company/	8.3	March 23, 2013	300	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "We are all too familiar with creepy basements. We all know the feeling you get when you turn the lights off before running up the stairs, praying nothing will grab your ankle before the last step. As children, we would dread trips to the cellar, the cold room, and that cramped, dusty smelling spot under the stairs when we would have to retrieve that old box of Christmas decorations. No, creepy does not cut it. Words like disturbing, freakish, and hair-raisingly avoidable come to mind. For me, however, there was one shining diamond that stood out against the endlessly black coal: our newly renovated bathroom. This safe hold pleasantly contrasted the cracked cement floors, dark, musty smelling crawl spaces, and spiders the size of mice, whom you could find in every corner, and if you were lucky, crawling up your sock.", "I would descend a creaking staircase, carpeted with short, mold-ridden shag, in a stairway immune to daylight, scurry past a hole in the wall that seemed fit for a grabby hand, and finally step into the serene safety of the bathroom. Here I would shower, morning after morning. Here I would be protected by the solid oak door; the only remaining piece of the old bathroom and the only part of the basement that filled me with feelings other than unease. Naturally, this was the last piece to be taken out. This was the one thing that was not like the others, and this one thing had to go – according to my parents anyway. For precisely one day – meaning one night, one morning, one shower of which the trustworthy door would not serve as my protector – the door would be gone. I would have to wait while the new door was whisked in.", "This day is one I will hardly miss. The thought of this one day will later be the reason I decide to go to bed early or keep the light on while I sleep, or more likely, don’t sleep.", "I twist the knob, allowing an initial burst of frigid water to spit forth. A few seconds later, calming warmth follows. This shower is just like all the others – or so I tell myself. I step in and slide the frosted glass door shut. I peer through at the warped, glossy objects on the other side, morphed into entropy. With the door to the bathroom removed, I can see into my laundry room. I move side to side and it looks like thousands of tiny creatures squirming around in the darkness, all of them knowing now is the time to strike.", "There is a certain feeling that engulfs one’s body when they suspect there is another presence amongst them and one of which they would rather not alert the attention of. It is somewhat akin to the feeling of standing on a freshly frozen pond. Then you hear the ice crack. You don’t move. You try not to breathe. Currently, this is me.", "I fully step into the falling stream of heat. I shiver as my body warms up but wince as my frozen toes burn. I squirt some shampoo into my hand, work it into my hair. I wet my head under the water then turn back quickly to the door to make sure nothing has changed. Closing my eyes is inevitable. I shut them and stick my head under the water, rinsing furiously so I can open them again.", "With just my four senses against my fears, I begin to panic. It is then the blissful current of warmth changes to an icy blast. My back arches away from it, my mouth instinctively opens to let out a small gasp. I turn quickly and stick my hand out into the stream, half protecting myself, half waiting for the heat to return. I’m still waiting. Still ice-cold.", "I would have reached out and twisted the knob further to the left. I would have then waited and been rewarded with the return of heated water. This all would have happened were there not already a hand there.", "I immediately open my eyes after what seems like every muscle in my body trying to burst through my skin. Following this is the stinging. All the suds pooling in my eyes send bolts of lightning coursing through my face. I need to open my eyes but can’t.", "There is a certain feeling one gets when they know they are in danger but are deprived of their senses. It’s the feeling you get when you wake up in the middle of the night from a strange noise and try to find the light switch. You slide your feet off the edge of the bed and tip-toe towards your door in pitch blackness. Getting the lights on is your only thought. For some reason, the switch eludes you. Your hand frantically searches the walls, your heart beating into your eardrums as you turn in panicked circles. Currently, this is me.", "This is all too much for my mind. I’m quivering as I shrink to the floor of the shower, that feeling of spiders crawling over my body as I wait for something to touch my wet, exposed skin. My eyes still burning, I cup some water in my hands from the running stream of ice. I splash it in my eyes, doing my best to open them at the same time. I blink a couple of times with my face pointing down. I muster all my courage to look to the knob. In the cold shower of water, droplets fall and explode into mist off my head as I turn to see the hand is gone. I feel some warm life come back into my body.", "I was almost convinced I had imagined the whole thing. I would have stood up and finished my shower in the confidence of a warm flow of water and my newly sound senses. This all would have happened if a cold wind had not blown in and cooled the already frigid layer of moisture on my skin, sending a shiver through my spine and down my arms. I would have been so reassured if that thing would have just remembered to close the sliding door.", "Credit To – DtheJG", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
If You Lost a Loved One	https://www.creepypasta.com/if-you-lost-a-loved-one/	8.62	March 22, 2013	300	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "There is a way that you can bring back a loved one after death. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. Death is final and cheating it always leads to bad results. But you’ll want to know anyway. Well, here you go:", "Go to the cemetery that your loved one is buried in. This only works for those who’ve been buried, though (there’s probably another method for cremation or something, but I don’t know it). Make sure that you take the one material object that is most important to you with you. The emotion from this object, this sacrifice, will provide your power. Take it to the plot of your loved one and bury it over their grave. You don’t have to go very far down, so don’t worry about running into the slab or anything. Before you cover up the hole with your object, don’t forget to add a few drops of your blood to it. This imbues the ritual with your own life essence and… draws them in.", "Then comes the final steps. Take a small handful of dirt from where you buried your object and swallow it. Disgusting, but necessary. This creates the link between you and where you need to go. After that, get yourself as comfy as you can and fall asleep upon the grave.", "If everything was done correctly (and you get a bit lucky) you’ll awaken to find yourself standing at the gate of the graveyard. It will be dim, foggy, and you’ll notice a lack of color in this drab place. You’ll also see that there seem to be people wandering around the gravestones. Exactly how many and what they’ll look like will depend on the cemetery you went to, but I’ve never heard of a location not having at least a few dozen of them wandering around.", "Whatever you do, stay away from them. These are the shades of those left behind from failed rituals or weak spirits drawn from the surrounding areas to the power of your blood and object. Even if you recognize some of them, do not go near them. They’re little more than instinct now and desire one thing above all else: life. They want another chance to live and crave nothing more, even if the shade’s mind is so far gone it doesn’t even recall why. And if one catches you, it WILL try to steal that life away from you.", "They may notice you, they may not. If they do, evade them. It shouldn’t be too hard as they’re reflexes and control are not nearly as sharp as they used to be. Avoid them and look for your loved one. The person may be at their grave or wandering the walkway. You may even find them hiding, terrified of the scene before them.", "When you finally see your loved one, stop. Don’t go near them yet. Call out the person’s name and wait. If the response seems genuine, everything is going as plan. If the response is delayed, quiet, distant, or not even present, then hold on. Ask, from a distance, what was the one thing the person hated in life. As these shades progress and their minds dwindle to nothing, some of the first things to go are the memories of the things they hated in life. Any bad memory that makes life seem terrible would slip away to be replaced by that deep desire to return to the living. If your loved one’s answer seems legitimate, take their hand and pray that you weren’t wrong. If you are, you may find yourself as a replacement shade wandering this foggy graveyard.", "Be aware their hand will be cold. Freezing. Like grasping solid ice; but never let go. Even if your hand starts going numb and your fingers turn black, do not let go. After feeling that rush of life touching their hand and immediately losing it moments later, your loved one may not be able to resist the urge to take it all from you.", "Take your loved one back to the gate, avoiding other shades as you can. More may notice you now as your living body is connected to their realm via your lost loved one. Be quick, be decisive, and DO NOT let go of your loved one’s hand.", "Should you make it and step through the gate of the cemetery, you’ll find yourself back in the living world; however, this time your loved one will have rejoined you at your side, still clutching your hand.", "To the rest of the world, it will just seem like your loved one went on a long trip somewhere and recently came back. Nobody will be able to recall where it was they went or what they did there (well, nobody except you and your loved one) but they will be happy to see the person’s return.", "After this, I suggest that you never stay in one place too long. Keep moving, keep roaming. The more random your journeys, the better. The moment you start to see the sickly, pale look come across your loved one’s face or the bit of decay that might start forming on your skin, move. Death hates to be cheated, and if he catches up with you and your loved one, he’ll make sure that you both feel every bit of the rotting sickness that will build up in your bodies until your loved one once again falls to the grasp of death and returns to the cemetery. This time, however, they won’t be alone. You will be joining them.", "Maybe you’ll get lucky, though. Maybe someone might make this journey for you. They’ll take your hand and drag you back to the world of the living… only for it all to start over once again.\nCredit To – David", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Rotunda	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-rotunda/	8.09	March 21, 2013	300	[ "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Most people who choose to go hiking do so in the summer or spring, but some of my college friends and I tend to prefer hiking in the winter. After our final arduous semester of college, our small gang of three decided to go on a road trip to the Great Smoky Mountains and try some hiking there. Jack was applying to law school in Knoxville, and so was using this trip both for the hike and to get a sense of his school of interest. He had spiked black hair, a small patch of facial hair under his lip, and green eyes, which made him popular with some ladies in our university. Craig was looking to become a park ranger and looked like he was meant for the wild, with fuzzy brown hair and an extensive boxed beard.", "This story isn’t about something scary we encountered in the woods, or some monster hiding in the trees. The hike was actually fun, rewarding, and relaxed (though a bit cold). This is what happened in a small town we stayed in on the base of the mountains after the hike.", "The town was designed for those hikers who choose to come in the spring and summer. The main street was filled with all sorts of attractions for people who were interested in the beautiful nature all around but did not want to actually venture into the hiking trails. There were cable cars to high-altitude convention centers, arcades, bowling alleys, “driving” trails, carnival-like games, and a haunted house.", "After the hike, my friends and I decided to spend an extra day exploring these attractions. To me, the whole town had an eerie aura, which was accentuated by the lack of tourists in the winter months. Though everything was open, there simply were no people on the streets other than us, and maybe a few other winter hikers and the rare locals.", "After riding the cable car for a spectacular sunset view of the mountains, we argued about whether to call it a night. Always looking for a fun fright, I recommended we venture to the haunted house. My friends considered it childish, but I said I was going to go anyway, and meet them back at the hotel. That was a very bad mistake.", "The haunted house had a strange set-up; there was no front door, rather a gondola leading up to a door on the second story. From the outside it looked like the house was made of concrete painted to look like old wood, reminiscent of the entrance to an old mine or a tunnel. The building was very clearly a commercial haunted house. I could even see the pop-out skeletons and department-store-like special effects around the door in the second story, and there were buildings with other, non-scary attractions all around the haunted house. All this helped alleviate my fears.", "I never intended to go it alone, but after waiting for 5 minutes, the person manning the entrance booth realized that no one else was going to join me. I gave him the $20 entrance fee and told him that considering it’s a winter evening and there are barely any tourists around, I might as well go in alone. I was feeling overconfident, and told him that I don’t scare easily. At that moment, something changed. The man, who was wearing a clownish outfit and had straight brown hair flowing to one side of his head, changed his expression from bored to somber. His brown eyes pierced mine, and he muttered under his breath,", "“You shouldn’t say that. You shouldn’t do this alone.”", "Immediately after, he smiled, and used an intercom system to let the actors inside know that a young male is coming in. I heard the actors ask if I was alone and he confirmed it. There was dead silence. One of the actors repeated through the intercom, so that I could hear,", "“You shouldn’t say that. You shouldn’t do this alone. Run through the rotunda.”", "I’ve been to a number of haunted houses and this seemed unusual. Something didn’t sit right with me, but I chalked it up to an early scare tactic they were using before I even entered the house. The man told me the ground rules: “No touching the actors. Proceed forward at a steady pace. If you give up and need it to end early, yell at the top of your lungs, ‘STOP!’” Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard this all before. Then the man grabbed me and looked at me very sternly.", "“Run through the rotunda.”", "Enough. I was getting sick of this scare tactic. I took the gondola and entered through the second floor door.", "At first everything played out like a typical commercial haunted house. There were dark hallways, pop-out monsters, and hands of actors reaching for me through the walls. Having never done this alone, I did start getting scared, with my heart rate increasing and sweat coming off my palms, but it was a “fun” kind of fear. There was a crawlspace, totally lightless, and the actors, violating their own rules, grabbed my legs and activated a chainsaw (probably fake) as to cut them off. I desperately lunged forward out of the crawlspace into a room with brilliant purple lights rotating around a platform that seemed to be shaking. Disoriented, I took a few seconds to recuperate and recognized that it was an optical illusion; a cylindrical background wallpaper was rotating so fast as to make a walkway in the center look unstable. Confident, I went across the walkway to a door and opened it.", "The following room was a large circular room with a dome on the top, a rotunda. It was dark, but there was enough light for me to make out a door on the far side. What was unusual was that the room was very different from the rest of the rooms in the building. Instead of a black Velcro-like material covering the walls, the walls were ordained with red marble and statues of deformed faces and broken bird wings. The room felt hot, and there was black liquid streaming out of a hole in the ceiling. I remembered the warnings earlier and a shiver went down my spine. I started to run to the door on the far end, but I had spent too much time looking at the surroundings. Suddenly, everything became pitch black, except for a faint red light radiating out of the column of black liquid in the center.", "I tried to keep my trajectory to the door, but it was locked now. Another shiver went down my spine. That’s when I started to hear voices all around me. At first I thought they were the actors, and they kept repeating my name.", "“Kenneth. Kenneth. Kenneth.”", "I couldn’t see. I couldn’t feel anything. I could only hear my name. I thought back to the man at the entrance. At no point did I reveal my name. None of this made sense. I chickened out and shouted “STOP!” but the voices didn’t stop.", "I took out my phone. It was 8:33pm and I had no reception. The voices wouldn’t stop, and the room was getting hotter and hotter. I shouted “Why are you doing this? I yelled stop!”", "Around me I heard male and female voices in unison. I started hearing words and phrases other than my name.", "“Troy abandoned. Clara unreciprocated. Malfeasance wins.”", "Now I was terrified. Troy is the name of the town in New Hampshire I was born in. My family moved to New York City when I was young, where I grew up and went to school. Clara was my first crush, though nothing ever came of my lust for her. Malfeasance was the word by which I won a small spelling bee in my school.", "I began to shake at these words, and the room began to feel even hotter. But now the heat was starting to localize to my right hand, and was becoming very painful. I cried out for this to stop, and tried to knock down the locked door out of the rotunda, to no avail. I pulled out my phone, but it wasn’t working. The voices continued, in a lower tone:", "“A burning hand. A broken face. A broken wing.”", "As these words were uttered, my hand, in extreme pain, began to cool down. When I was in school I burned my hand in an oven. I had also been in a stupid fistfight with a classmate over cutting a line in a cafeteria, which ended with both of us breaking each other’s noses. More recently, on a drive to a job interview in Chicago, I ran over a wounded bird on the highway. I felt terrible and remember the image of the bird’s deformed wing.", "I tried closing my ears, but the voices only got louder.", "“Heights, anger, loss.”", "These words I did not recognize, but the lowering, booming tones of the voices kept me shuddering.", "“The danger.”", "At this point, the black liquid emanating the faint light began to transform from a stream into a blob. The liquid grew and started taking the shape of a human being. Once the shaping was complete, the liquid changed color. In front of me was a man with green eyes, and straight black hair. He had a soul patch and was wearing a suit with a red tie. A knife materialized in his right hand.", "No words can express the terror I felt at that moment. With sweat falling down my forehead, with my heart racing so fast and so powerfully that I could feel my chest wall vibrate, and with my muscles trembling and shaking, I begged not to die. The “man” in the center of the room didn’t move, but he stared directly at me, coldly, robotically. I was too afraid to look away from his green eyes. I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my chest, the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. I screamed, I cried. Then the figure dematerialized, and the room lit up to the level of light there was when I first entered.", "I lunged for the door with no hesitation, and it swung open. The moment I stepped out of the rotunda, the pain stopped. The rest of the haunted house was completely lit. There were no actors, but there were deactivated pop-out monsters. I traversed twisted corridors similar to those before the rotunda, but lit up and featureless. I exited through a door in the back of the haunted house.", "I took out my phone, which was working again. It was 10:00pm. This didn’t make sense; I knew I spent no more than 20 minutes in there. I was shaking, terrified, and angry. I ran to the front of the haunted house, but there was no one there, no workers, no entrance booth personnel, no actors. I went back to the hotel, swearing to myself to keep the whole affair secret to anyone other than the internet.", "The next morning, I told my friends to give me one more hour before we head up to Knoxville. I went back to the haunted house. It looked the same as it did when I first entered, and there was a man at the entrance booth. He looked at me unimpressed, and did not appear to be the same man who greeted me last time. I began yelling and screaming, asking what kind of a sick joke they pulled on me last night, and how they discovered so much about me. He told me that it’s been a slow season, and no one came to the house last night. I felt enraged, and he threatened to call the police.", "Feeling defeated and upset, I retired back to the hotel. In the room, Jack was packing some stuff excitedly and jittery. There was a nasty smell in the room, but after the sensory overload last night, I was done analyzing.", "“Where’s Craig?” I asked.", "“Oh, he’s out prepping the car. Do you like the suit? I’m excited for Knoxville. Just in case I have to impress anyone, I think I’m going to straighten my hair. Do you think I should go for a red or blue tie?”", "Credit To – [email protected]", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Creaking	https://www.creepypasta.com/creaking/	7.15	March 20, 2013	300	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Beings and Entities", "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Beings and Entities", "Locations and Sites", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Ever since I could remember, ever since I had been a child, I had been afraid of the dark depths of any sea or deep lake. Dark blue or green water had a nauseating affect on me, and seaweed dancing sinuously at the bottom of pools made me shudder. Worse than that, however, was the feeling I got when viewing a large, upright stone or the hulk of a barnacle-encrusted wreck of a ship or submarine looming, ghost-like, out of black waters. Sights like these made me tremble with fear and look constantly over my shoulder, afraid to one day see behind me a rusty hull, corroded pale green by barnacles, swaying and creaking horribly…", "At the same time as being horrified, I found the fear ridiculous. Far away from any truly large bodies of water, and therefore, far away from any sunken ships – besides which, how would they just appear behind me? – I was safe for the nonce.", "However, two years after receiving my degree in archaeology, I found myself relegated to an island off a coast of South America, with a group intent on digging up a series of standing stones, the tips of which had been spotted by a native over a week ago.", "I soon came to realize that our entire excavation was a mistake – we should have given up early on, we should have not even come. I am not a superstitious person by any means, but as bad luck and accidents continued to assail us, I knew that someone, something, was trying to warn us away.", "At first, it was merely storms, and I was silent, believing it to be bad luck, nothing more – storms were highly common around this area, after all. But the storms became wilder and wilder, and when this did not deter us, an odd brittleness seemed to creep into our tools, which broke over and over. Nervous jokes became common within the group, but my suspicions were only aroused at this time.", "Our communication to the outside world kept going down, technical difficulty after difficulty, which caused our excavation to halt almost completely time after time. I suggested we give up our endeavor, but my advice was turned down – we were halfway done, the others argued, we couldn’t just give up on such an important discovery, not just because of a little bad luck.", "But it wasn’t just bad luck. If only the fools had listened…", "So, we continued. Storms had not stopped us, nor had difficulties with tools or communication. Now, the presence that was trying to warn us became harsh. Accidents began to happen, accidents that, at first, merely wounded our pride. Harsher still, the presence became – twisted ankles and wrists, sore muscles, fevers and sickness, broken bones. I had become frantic. I pleaded for them to stop. They tried to soothe me with promises that tomorrow would be the last day – only a few more pounds of earth, and then we could see the stones, the strangely carved and shaped stones, in all their glory.", "Tomorrow came. The stones were uncovered, and rose from the ground like a row of rotting teeth. They had an odd, pale green tint to them – an odd tint that makes me shudder to remember it now. We thought it was some kind of vegetable matter, but when one from our group tried brushing it off, he found that the residue on the brush was curiously like rust. Even still, it was easy to see the strange markings carved into the stone, markings that seemed to hover above the foul coloring, markings that depicted… but I cannot, will not describe it fully. The damned implications… a scaly being larger than a whale… bulging, fishy eyes, gills, bloated lips… monstrosity from that dark, indistinct world I so feared and hated… half fish, half… God, I must stop, I am already half-mad…", "A figment of imagination from a long dead culture. After realizing that this was all it could be, the group breathed easier. Silly to be so fearful of an obviously fake being, created by a people who were merely thankful to the bounty of the ocean.", "That deep, dark, hateful ocean…", "The day passed quickly. No accidents, no bad luck, no difficulties. We contacted our base in Washington, preparing transportation of the stones. We stood around our discovery, unease replaced by a moment’s pride, sharing opinions and hypothesis about our megaliths.", "Perhaps, after all, we had merely been jinxed – if only that was the case. That night, I was to realize that our luck had not changed, but had merely worsened. The presence that had tried so desperately to chase us away, to protect us from our horrible fate, had left us, had given up. Such is the folly of man and his greed for knowledge, knowledge of dark, unknown things, things that mankind should not awaken, things mankind has no earthly right to know about, lest madness wrap around us and drag us screaming into the black abyss of Sheol…", "That night, my peaceful sleep was interrupted by a noise, a noise that haunts me right now as I struggle to keep quiet, to not scream and alert it to my hiding place – a noise that has, however, strengthened my resolve to end everything after my tale is told. The world must know that some things are better left alone…", "I awoke slowly, not realizing what had jarred me out of my dreams at first. But as my grogginess faded, and the noise grew louder – it was coming closer – I began to shiver beneath my light cover.", "The creaking… the creaking of a rusty ship, looming out of the dark, behind me…", "I darted out of the tent, looking wildly around for the thing that could make such a sound on dry land. Left, right… up.", "And when I saw the monstrous sight, looming over the trees, staring with its glazed, bulging eyes, its mouth with the puffy, obscene lips parting to make that sound, a wild scream tore from my throat and I ran. I ran from it, leaving my comrades behind like a coward. I can only pray that they were able to run, to hide, and if not get away, I pray their end was quick and painless, although I fear that is not the way of this beast.", "I do not know what we unearthed. I do not know what was so important about those grotesque stones that the daemon surfaced because of our finding them. I do know why huge stones and wrecks under fathoms of water bother me so – it was never the object, but the resemblance to a half-remembered, aeons old dark being, covered in barnacles, pale green and white and red-brown in color, making that awful, nonliving creaking noise, slowly appearing, rising, rearing out of dark, unknown depths…", "I am thankful I sleep with a pistol. Now I will end it – for I know there is no chance of escaping. Even if I could, what of my sanity? I have seen the thing, I have seen Dagon, fish god of man’s earliest ancestors, unholy creature that still resides in our being… and yet, my tale will merely be laughed at. I will be confined to an asylum…", "So I will put the gun to my head, and pull the trigger, and sweet, peaceful oblivion will be mine.", "The creaking. It’s so close. I would have been fine… have died quickly, with some semblance of sanity intact. But the noise caused me to pause, to stiffen, and to slowly set the gun down. I continue to write because I do not want to give into my maddening desire to look over my shoulder. But I must. I must look, even though I could pick up the gun right now and end it all without looking… because I know what I shall see. My greatest fear will be realized once I finish this sentence – when I turn and look, I will see a rust colored body, corroded pale green by barnacles, swaying and creaking horribly…\nCredit To – Apocrypha\nCredit Link – [email protected]", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Looking For an Old Game	https://www.creepypasta.com/looking-for-an-old-game/	7.91	March 19, 2013	300	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Strange and Unexplained", "Video Games and Gaming" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Strange and Unexplained", "Video Games and Gaming" ]	[ "Posted: January 11th 2013, 9:02 PM", "Hey, I’m still kind of new here. My name’s Matt, and I’m looking for an old game that my dad and I used to play together on the SNES, taking turns switching the controller over after the other died. I remember the game-play pretty well, I just can’t seem to remember the title of the game or what the cartridge looked like, aside from having the main character on it. Figured I’d play the game for old time’s sake when my dad was still here…=/ All I remember in the title is it had the word Mayan somewhere in it, I think.", "The game itself had a kind of darker background and atmosphere to it, and that’s probably why I remember it so well, compared to all the other brightly colored games from Nintendo, like the Super Mario Bros games. In the corner of the screen, there was a crocodile that’s mouth gradually closed down on your character as you got closer to dying. To progress, you climb up vines on trees or jump on spider webs, and find your way around like a maze of of the jungle, and they had some sand traps that opened and closed on the ground, as well as different animals that would attack you on your way, like snakes, monkeys, crocodiles, a boar and I think a jaguar at the end that was like the boss in the first level. You collected things like rocks or pouches full of them that you sling at the animals, and I think a bomb and whip as well. I thought it was something like Indiana Jones at first, but turns out it wasn’t.", "My dad and I used to play for hours to get away from the little annoying chores around the house and school work for me, we were really close then. =) But after a while… he moved out after a big fight with my mom and I only got to see him once in a while, but sadly, each time I saw him, he seemed to be losing touch and his actions became more and more rash, and just oddly out of character for him…He left one day without even saying anything about why or where he was going. And I moved into his old apartment when it was available, since he had left some stuff there that I was hoping he would come back to.", "So, this is really important to me, we haven’t spoken in over two years now, and its the only thing I have that’s still a good memory with him that my mother hasn’t ruined that I can hopefully share with my son in a few years. He was just born October, I named him after my father, Allen. =) I’ve tried looking through the few boxes of games he kept in his room, but no luck finding it. I wonder if he took it with him, wherever he went. But I just got a call from a storage company in the next town over that says payment for his bin is overdue, which I didn’t even know he had. So I’m going to check that out within the week, or they might auction it off, so I’ll see if there’s anymore games or family pictures or anything of personal value in there. It would help out a lot if any of you could tell me what the game was called, so I know what to look for. It would be very much appreciated. I don’t know what happened to the SNES either, maybe its in there, if not I could probably just buy it on eBay or something if I find the game.", "Posted: January 13th 2013, 5:33 PM", "Well, I’m back…and I found it, Pitfall. I’m a bit shaken up after all the weird shit that’s gone on from this though. I couldn’t very well have typed all this out in such little time, so I’ve started up my voice-to-text program to tell what’s happened. Which brings me to ask this, since I don’t remember having these experiences from the game ever before…Has anyone else had strange experiences with this game that they couldn’t find an easy explanation for? I mean, I know some of it could be explained if its just a hacked game or whatever, but truth be told I wasn’t scared by most of the images, or texture changes in the game. There were however these really odd noises that I’ve never heard before, that didn’t even sound human. And there were strange things going on around me, with my senses, and in my dreams…I’ll be honest, because I must sound like some kind of hippy right now, I don’t really believe in ghosts or paranormal phenomenon or anything like that, but I can’t find any rational explanation for what this game seems to have done, it’s gone far beyond breaking the fourth wall and I don’t know what’s going to happen next, which terrifies me. Maybe I’m just going crazy, I’d just be happy to know that that was true. But considering I’ve recently seen a psychologist for a routine check-up, since I usually have alot of stress in my job and daily life, and having been told a couple weeks ago my mind was just as sharp as any other person’s, I just don’t get it. What’s happening to me, it’s not normal, it can’t be.", "Okay, let me try to explain what I’ve experienced in a bit more detail if that helps. See, I didn’t have a car to go check the storage containers a couple days ago, I usually just borrow my roommate’s car to get to and from work, and to see my wife and son sometimes. But he’s been away for vacation this last week. And…I just couldn’t wait to play the game, so I found a download for a Super Nintendo emulator that worked fine, and a download for Pitfall: The Mayan Adventure.exe on Piratebay the next morning after my last post. It took a while to download, because I’m using a crappy Asus laptop. But it played fine at first, just like I had remembered it. Aside from my father not being there, I was having fun figuring out the tricks to the game again and the controls on my computer were simple enough.", "I would go into more detail of the gameplay at the beginning, but just play the game for yourself and you’ll see its not the most complicated game there is, I don’t want to bore you with detailed explanation of hours of gameplay, and don’t feel I have too much time left before my turn is up, so I’m speaking to my speech-to-text program and just going to use the spell-check with it, while its still fresh and clear in my mind. Here’s hoping it gets it right. But I have to know if anyone else has experienced any of this and if so, how to stop it, or at least I can hope to help other people avoid the same fate I fear my dad and I are going through now. I know he’s still alive, he has to be…I know it now.", "Well, if you’ve ever played this game, you know that every time it froze on a Super Nintendo system, whether from the cartridge having dust, or you accidentally moving the system an inch, you would have to reset the game and start over no matter where you were. After I had been playing for a while, I was trying to be thorough playing through the levels and as soon as I got up to 443,550 points, with three pouches left, and two lives, the game on my laptop froze and the game crashed altogether. I was pissed off at first, but I noticed something when I went to the files to launch the game again, there was another file added that said, “HeyBuddy”. I hadn’t really thought about it at the moment, but that’s usually how my dad would address me as a kid. Out of curiosity, I clicked the file and it opened a box of text that said, “Your turn is up.” Which I remembered my dad and I used to say to each other when the other had died.", "It was a bit strange for me, to say the least, but it…the program, started itself up after I went to close the text-box. I noticed the three lights on the bottom of my laptop, that were usually white, green, and flashing white from left to right were now all solid red, which I’d never seen before as my computer started making that noise it makes when it gets heated up after being on for a while, but it was louder than it usually is. I didn’t mind it much, it just sort of stuck out in my mind for a moment. The screen was just black for a while, so I figured it was going to crash again…but then the animation before the title screen of the game popped up and played like it does whenever you reset. The text played normally, as I expected, but when the shadow of the boy’s father shows up at the doorway, it isn’t grabbed by anything, the shadow actually looked like his dad was stabbed and he fell to the floor. The boy didn’t exclaim “DAD!” he asked “Dad?” and ran towards the door. He was pulled through the door by something I couldn’t see on the screen and red lines ran down the stone face in the room the boy was in as static started playing…it was obnoxious. I didn’t realize until a little later that the red lines were supposed to be blood. Until red ran in through the door in a small puddle I guess it was, from where the boy’s father fell to the ground and where the boy was abducted. It was a bit odd, and unexpected.", "Honestly, at this point, I wasn’t very scared though, it did seem odd and nothing like I remembered, but I thought it was pretty cool that someone was making this a more interesting game-play experience and potentially changing the story line, though this was a Super Nintendo game…there wouldn’t be much story line anyway. And since I’d pretty much beaten it in the previous play-through before it crashed, I actually hoped there was more, and unfortunately I was right. I moved over to options at the title screen, because I wanted to see if the controls were as I had set them before it reset, but the static sound picked up, as if the game was getting angry with me and the cursor moved itself over to play and it was selected.", "At this point, I was just hoping my computer didn’t have some kind of virus from downloading the game. It wouldn’t be the first of my computers getting a virus from something like that. But this was an entirely different virus from anything I had seen before, if it was a virus that is. Maybe just an exceptionally good programmer.", "The static sound stopped as soon as the screen transitioned to black and came up with the screen that said the first level name, “Ceiba Jungle”. Once it showed the play screen with the character, I saw the character wave to me, I paused for a moment and awkwardly waved back…I don’t know why I did, I just felt compelled to for some odd reason. The level looked exactly the same. But then, I noticed something, the main character looked different, he looked like he was trying to talk to me, and like he was in a panic at the same time. I felt the same for a split second, and when he tried to talk to me I realized…that was a sprite of my dad on the game. This brought a mix of emotions to me that were disturbing, part of me felt hatred for him leaving, partly was happy to see him there like we were playing the game together again, and the last part was the onset of genuine fear and paranoia. I thought, maybe someone was messing with me, and who was watching my life and doing this to me and why?", "I pressed escape over and over again, trying to close the game and even tried to manually turn my computer off by holding down the power button, but nothing was working. And the character on the screen, he was still silent, there was no sound as he ran to the left of the screen, he ran straight into a tree trunk with a thud and fell to the ground a couple times. What scared the fuck out of me was that every time he did, I heard a slam against the door down the hall, in time with the game. When he stopped, it stopped. My heart was racing by now, and I rushed to look out the window overlooking the front door, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing and no one at the door, and I was the only one in the apartment. I was pretty scared to say the least, and half-expecting him to be there. I stood there for a minute, baffled, thinking I was going insane.", "I ran back over to my laptop and wanted to see more of what was going to happen, but the character was gone. And as soon as I sat down, the game crashed again, and when I went to re-launch the file, it gave me another phrase that said; “YourTurnSon.” I clicked it, it read: “You’ll soon find out why.” I was a bit confused at that, but I didn’t want to restart the game, I was done with this weird shit. It did the same as before, it launched itself, went to black, then skipped the intro and went straight to the menu. And again, it wouldn’t let me press escape or manually turn off the computer. So I figured I’d outsmart it, I closed the laptop and unplugged it, hoping the battery would die soon and the next day I’d have it reformatted to get rid of the obvious virus. But it wasn’t that simple, even though I had muted my sound the last time it crashed, I heard a loud scream coming from my laptop, it was a scream of torment and torture, and it sounded like it was in my dad’s voice. I panicked and threw the laptop at the wall, but it got louder. I’m surprised my crappy laptop still works to be honest. It didn’t stop until I opened it up again and pressed play.", "When it came to the first level again, I immediately noticed the level was different, everything was black and white, the only thing separating the black things and background was all the outlines traced in white. I couldn’t really tell if my character looked the same as before or not. But I also saw my health, it usually always started you at three lives, but it started me with two this time. I heard something that sounded like a record playing something in reverse…That didn’t bother me so much as the in-humane screaming and crying I heard from the left speaker, leading me to go where I’d last seen my dad’s character. I walked back to the left of the screen where the open tree trunk was, it looked like the hole in the trunk was all red though, and it looked sort of like a portal.", "I didn’t want to go in yet, so I turned back and walked to the right, I went as far right as I could. And as I did, I started to see white things sticking out of the ground, I thought they were spikes or something like that, that I just jumped over. But when I stepped on one, I heard the cry of a wild boar that sounded like it was being tortured. And suddenly I realized, these were the skeletal remains of the animals that I had faced before on the ground. I heard some strange noises from my speakers that sounded like low laughter. Like that of something not human, demonic almost as I ran to the left of the screen again, towards the red portal. It got louder the closer I got.", "The game crashed again when I went through. I was relieved. This time I could avoid clicking the files and reading whatever ridiculous things it had to say and try to shut down the computer without the game running at the same time. I checked again to make sure my speakers were muted, and I took the laptop and stored it under the stairwell outside between some blankets and old pillows next to the trashcans. Hell I would have welcomed someone trying to steal it. But I needed to get some sleep, it was a lot later than I thought it was by now. I knew the limits of my speakers and I knew I wouldn’t hear it from my bed at the least, I just wanted to forget about that game and give my laptop away to any unfortunate random pawnshop owner the next morning.", "But that night, last night, I had some very strange dreams. I heard the screams again, the crying, and distorted laughter. I saw everything in the game play in my dream over and over, but I was seeing through the eyes of the character and it all seemed so real. But I heard my father, he said; “Help me Matt, buddy I need your help. Find it.” I didn’t know what he meant by that ‘find it’ part, but I knew in that dream exactly where he was, he’d gone to find the Mayan ruins from the game, to find something that I wasn’t clear of. After that, I saw him, and his body violently purge his skeleton from his flesh, there was blood and organs scattered everywhere around the pile of bones mostly mangled together, as he screamed and to my amazement started to laugh too. I don’t know why, or how he would have found them, but I knew I’d find him there and maybe there was a chance I could still help him and get him back before anything like that happened to him. Now I knew where to look.", "So, at about 3 AM I was startled awake with tears down my face, then went to get the laptop and plug it back in to find out more. It had already brought up the game files, with a message that read: “WelcomeBack” and when I clicked it, the text-box said; “Come find me, you’re ready.” Then, I didn’t give it the chance to launch itself and I launched Pitfall myself and just pressed play, and the game let me this time. Now there was nothing, but my dad’s character, and pitch-black all around. There was this quiet music playing, that sounded like a pipe organ, and some low dark chanting or hymns or something, there were a lot of words I couldn’t quite make out. But I started feeling a burning sensation throughout my body, I almost couldn’t stand it as I heard flames crackling, I wanted to claw my skin off and I smelled fire for a split second. I got up when the sensation faded and checked around the apartment, I was the only one here, I never smoked, and our apartment can’t even facilitate fixtures for a stove of any sorts. The windows were all closed and we had no air vents, I still couldn’t imagine where that smell came from. When I got back to it, the last life went from one to zero and the game crashed for the last time and, when I checked, it had deleted itself completely from my computer. I had also used my Windows audio recorder to record some of it, but the files were either deleted or renamed and moved when the game crashed the last time. I’ll keep looking for that audio file. I tried to find the name of the author of the file download today, and I remembered the name was “Hourglass11”, but the file was just gone and I couldn’t download it again to find out more of what was going on. I have to see what’s on that damned cartridge…maybe it will give me more to go off of.", "Posted: January 14th 2013, 12:11 PM", "I’ve calmed down a bit now, as I type this last part myself. But that will only last until the next dream haunts me, and calls me to find him. But I realized today, that I am actually becoming my father in a way, as much as I don’t want to accept it, I’ve been rapidly drawing away from my family and becoming more reclusive because of all this. As much as I want to stop looking and break the chain now, I just can’t…I already took a vacation from work and went to the storage container when my roommate got back. I didn’t bother explaining to him, I knew he wouldn’t believe me. And I found both the game and the SNES in the same box with nothing else in it. Everything on the cartridge sticker were blacked out, except the character, that looked just like my father…a lot of people say I’m a mirror image of him. I’m going to find out where exactly he is and buy tickets to Mexico to find him and those ruins.", "CREDIT: Anonymous", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Fuzzy	https://www.creepypasta.com/fuzzy/	8.4	March 18, 2013	300	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "I was jolted out of sleep when my 5-year-old son, Kevin, jumped on top of me. I let out a little yelp both from the shock of the impact and from being ripped out of a deep sleep. A little disoriented, it took me a few moments to figure out what was going on. Now jumping up and down on the bed, Kevin yelled, “Fuzzy came again! Fuzzy came again!”", "I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and checked the clock. It wasn’t even 6 o’clock in the morning yet. Kevin continued to jump ecstatically around the bed. By now, my husband was awake and very cranky. He looked over to the clock, and, seeing the time, released a frustrated moan.\n“Jesus, kid, can’t you wait until at least 6?” he murmured sleepily. He too had been sleeping soundly.", "“Fuzzy came again! I told you he would!” Kevin was too excited to care what time it was. It could have been one in the morning for all he cared. “He’s back! He’s back!”", "“Fuzzy” as he called him, was what we assumed was Kevin’s imaginary friend. He described him as a fuzzy, colorful creature that arrives in magical mist through his window every night, and they play together. Kevin claimed that he could change colors and even shape, but he was always fuzzy. My husband and I both dismissed this as an imaginary friend phase, as we lived in a somewhat rural area outside of a minor city, and there was no one around to play with. Every morning, he would tell us what he did with Fuzzy last night. His stories would include making puzzles, reading books, jumping around, and cuddling. The one thing that was weird, though, was the fact that Kevin had, at first, told us that ‘Fuzzy didn’t want us to know about his nightly visits’. A bit put off at first, I soon disregarded this as merely a child’s need to feel special because he had a secret.", "Sometimes I felt the need to check on Kevin at night, just to make sure everything was alright. The main reason I didn’t was because Kevin was a very light sleeper, in contrast to me and my husband who were very heavy sleepers, and I didn’t want to run the risk of waking him up.", "Kevin had stopped talking about Fuzzy a couple months back, so we just assumed that he had grown out of it. I didn’t see anything wrong with Kevin bringing Fuzzy back. I was happy as long as he was happy. I was a house wife; my husband worked in the city and was gone pretty much all day, so I cared for Kevin as he wasn’t in school yet. It did get rather annoying after a while, constantly being bombarded with stories of Fuzzy all day. I smiled at Kevin’s enthusiasm, but deep down I felt a sense of dread welling up at the idea of Fuzzy returning.", "I got up out of bed and left the room, leaving my husband to deal with Kevin, and went downstairs. While making breakfast, I decided to check the newspaper. A car crashed on the interstate, and no body was found. A rich lady donated some money to the state for park improvements or something, claiming that their current state was “simply unacceptable.” There was a short editorial on why kids are doing poorly in school, and parenting suggestions on the topic. An old man accused of pedophilia and using hallucinogenics and other drugs to lure children, arrested three months ago, was released from jail as there was not enough incriminating evidence. There was some sports stuff too, but I didn’t bother checking that as I was never really into sports.", "Later that day, I was in Kevin’s room cleaning up. It smelled funny in his room; in fact, the last time I remembered it smelling this way was the last time Kevin was talking about Fuzzy. I thought about it for a moment, but decided to just dismiss it as just fermented body odor from him jumping around on his bed with his imaginary friend. I decided to open the window, as it was giving me a headache. Looking out, I saw Kevin out in the yard playing with some of his toys. It had rained last night, and the ground was soft and muddy, so I made sure to warn him not to go near the mud. I lowered my head to withdraw back into the room, but noticed something on the ground beneath the window.", "Two holes, about a foot or so apart. They weren’t that big, so I wasn’t too concerned; it just bugged me, as I couldn’t think of anything that might have made them. I looked up to ask Kevin if he knew what they were; he might have made them. He had moved somewhere else though, and I didn’t feel like chasing him down to ask about something so menial.", "The next day, I was wiping down a window in the dining room, which lied directly below Kevin’s room. The two holes caught my eye again; however, this time they were even bigger than before. At dinner, I decided to ask Kevin if he had been digging in the backyard. He said no, so I figured it must have been animals or something.", "That evening, something else occurred to me. I found Kevin in the living room.\n“Hey, Kevin,” I asked. “why does Fuzzy only come at night? You seem bored lately, and you never play with him during daytime.”\nHe simply shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied. “He just doesn’t.”\nThis was when things started to feel a bit off. It had never occurred to me before that Kevin didn’t play with Fuzzy during the daytime. It was probably just his way of keeping Fuzzy in a more realistic light. If he brought Fuzzy out to show him to us, he would see that we clearly didn’t believe in the fluffy piece of air next to him.\nYeah. That’s it. That’s why.", "Nothing much happened for the next week or so. My husband and I went to bed at 10 o’clock sharp, as usual. We let Kevin stay up later if he wanted to, so he could play with his imaginary friend. We didn’t mind the noise he made; in fact, if we were asleep, we didn’t hear it at all. Hell, a train couldn’t wake us up once we hit deep sleep. Every night Kenny would say something different about Fuzzy. One night, he apparently brought a cookie (which I strongly suspect he stole from the cookie jar), and another night they ‘flew through the clouds’ on Fuzzy’s back. We were happy that our child’s imagination was healthy. But that feeling… that feeling that something was slightly off never went away.", "The next week, I had to start putting Kevin to bed at the same time we went to bed, and, later on, earlier than us. School was coming up soon, and I wanted him to be on a normal biorhythm so that he could wake up early. But of course, this disrupted his ‘Fuzzy Schedule,’ and he would not go to bed without a fight. As days passed, it was becoming visibly obvious that he was not going to sleep when he was supposed to, and instead probably getting up after we fell asleep. Dark circles under his eyes formed. He was whinier than ever, and almost impossible to deal with, leaving me utterly exhausted every day. Needless to say, I had no trouble falling asleep that week.", "I was getting sick of my authority being undermined. I decided to stay up late one night in order to catch him in the act. I went to bed as normal, got up and moved to a chair, and after about a 30 minute period of sitting there, I began to dose off. I decided I would need some help in this stake-out; I crept downstairs to make a quick batch of coffee.", "The feeling that something was wrong never alleviated itself. It felt like my mother’s instinct was going off, but I didn’t know why. I stood in the kitchen, sipping my coffee, for what seemed to be ages. Frequently glancing at the clock didn’t help. I spent most of the time reading the newspaper, and every time I began to dose off, I got more coffee.", "Accustomed to utter silence, I jumped a little when I heard a little ‘thump’ coming from upstairs. The clock read half past twelve. I had no idea Kevin had the capacity to wait for more than 3 hours just for a stupid imaginary friend. I quietly set my stuff down on the kitchen table and tip-toed to the stairs. I made sure to avoid the creaky steps as I slowly ascended into the darkness of the second floor.", "Just as I reached the top step, I heard Kevin’s voice from down the hallway.\n“Fuzzy!”\nIt was now blindingly obvious that Kevin was awake. I heard another thump from Kevin’s room as I slowly made my way down the hallway. I thought about calling out his name and scolding him right then, but decided against it as it would only serve to alert him to my presence and allow him to retreat under the covers and pretend he was asleep.", "The feeling that something was wrong grew from minor to almost unbearable. A soft hissing noise coming from his room was now within earshot. I reached the door. Gulping, I silently gripped the handle, turned it, and pushed inward. As I was opening the door, Kevin’s bedroom window came into view. It was wide open, and in it, a ladder. I flung the door wide open, and nearly fainted.", "There, in the middle of the room, was an incredibly hairy, naked old man, wearing a gas mask.", "He was feeding hallucinogenic gas up Kevin’s nose.", "Credit To – AMB", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
How to Succeed in Publishing Without Really Trying	https://www.creepypasta.com/how-to-succeed-in-publishng-without-really-trying/	6.08	March 17, 2013	300	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Hey, you. Yes, you at the bar there, the blonde. Want to hear a story? Well, all things considered you’re alone in a bar on All Hallows. Don’t look at me like that, that’s what today is called! But hey, if you want to hear one, I’d be the guy to ask. I used to be an author, you know. Damn good one too… But those days are long behind me. So, about that story…You want to hear it? I’ll take that as a yes then.", "A few years ago, I was in a rut. I was fresh out of college with some bullshit degree or other. Yeah, It could have been creative writing… Either way, I had no job and my landlord was ready to evict me. To save my ass, I slogged down to Harper and Roe publishers in the rain one day so I could submit one of my short stories to their editors. It was a good story too! It was about this killer who picked up his victims in bars… Easy, sweetheart, It was just a story! No need to jump like that! Anyway, I was standing in some bigwig editor’s office as he looked over my submission. He was murmuring and scribbling notes onto a legal pad as he read. Occasionally, he’d look up at me and nod before going back to reading. Half an hour later, he put down my manuscript and motioned for me to sit down.\n“Look, kid, you’ve got guts. But you don’t have too much else. This,” he paused,” thing you gave me has no commercial value whatsoever. There’s no market for it. In addition, it quite frankly needs to be burnt. That’s how bad it is, kid. I did my part and entertained the notion of publishing it. But I honestly don’t think I can. Sorry, kid.”\nThen he leaned back in his leather chair and buzzed his secretary in to show me out.", "By seven o’clock that night, I’d shown my story to practically every publishing house in New York. Every one of them had either turned me down or kicked me to the curb. Quite a few of them did both. I was at the end of my rope when my landlord gave me the ultimatum of two days to pay. How in hell’s name was I going to sell this story?!Defeated, I slogged back to my studio apartment. Flinging my sorry ass onto the couch, I looked up at the water stained ceiling.\nScreaming up at the gross cracked plaster, I begged any power ,benevolent or otherwise, to grant me the ability to write. I offered my soul, my hands, even my left shoe to get just an ounce of talent. Then, mercifully, I blacked out.", "Let me tell you, sweetheart, waking up wasn’t too much fun. My ribs ached, and there was a pit in my chest, like something had been torn out of it. I moaned and stumbled into my apartment’s tiny kitchenette. Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat down at my minuscule table. All of a sudden, I got this idea. It was terrifying! I just had to write it down! I pulled my laptop over to me and feverishly began to write. The five page story I wrote that night went on to be included in more anthologies than Stephen King! Come to think of it, you may have heard of it…it was about some Russian scientists keeping people awake for days… Anyway, let’s continue, shall we?", "My Russian sleep story was just the beginning, I was churning out mind scrabbling stories that kept people’s minds awake for days. They were hair-raisingly terrifying. Publishers were basically eating out of my hand, begging for my manuscripts. My work was in practically every bookstore in the country. Authors submitted their work to me in hopes of getting into one of my many anthologies. I was at the top of my game and not a single person could bring me down. Strangely enough, even beautiful women like yourself enjoyed sharing my company. And I loved theirs… But though all my success and fame, there was an undertone of fear, and a sense that I had lost something….", "One day, after getting off of a call with my agent, HE came. He stood in front of my big, polished out desk. (I’d long since moved out of my studio apartment) He had on a well tailored Armani suit, and a rose buttoner. He seemed perfectly normal, perfectly…human. I wish I had never looked away from his astonishingly green eyes. He-he had no feet… Well, none to speak of… They were hooves. Night black hooves. The more that I looked at him, the more I noticed . His fingernails were long and buffed to a wicked point. He had two small bumps on either side of his forehead. His eyes, though blindingly green had no pupils… Then, he spoke to me, ” Good evening, sir. I believe you owe me your soul.” Mouth agape, I tried to protest. He silenced me by raising a hand. “Sir, we made a deal. You gave me your soul and I gave you talent. Now, your soul, if you please…” I stammered, ” P-please… D-don’t take me! I-I-I could find others! Y-you could take them. He smiled, a forked tongue whisking by his teeth,” Of course… If you find me someone else, I could free you. But,” his smile grew wider, ” you’ve just buried yourself further in the devil’s bargain.” The relief creeped across my face and I visibly relaxed, letting out a sigh. My relaxation spurred something in him and he bark at me,”This won’t be so easy, sir! I demand one human soul per week from you. If you fail to provide a soul on any given week, my-ahem-compatriots, will come and perform some ‘damage control’.” He bowed, ” The clock starts now, sir. I’ll be waiting.”", "Well, honey, that’s my story. Pretty good, eh? Now, what do you say that you and I head back to my place? It’ll be fun. We can have some wine. You could get a little tipsy… Maybe I could borrow your soul?", "Credit To – Voltaire Dauphine", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Two Figurines	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-two-figurines/	7.32	March 16, 2013	300	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "It was around Thanksgiving when my grandparents came to visit. It had been almost two years since I and my younger brother and sister, Eric and Breanna, got to see them. They were always so lively when they came around. For an old man, my grandpa had a very interesting hobby. He collected action figures. Any sorts of them. He had collections of He Man figurines, to Power Rangers, to the Thunder Cats.", "But the best part about them coming to town was that every time my grandpa came, he always brought a small collection for us to play with. Never to keep, but it was always fun playing with some of his favorite toys with him.", "As our grandparents entered our home to stay for the weekend, my mother greeted them with a smile. She always had at least a grin on her face. She was one of the most ecstatic people that I’ve ever seen. She always seems to bring light to a dark day. Not just to me and my siblings, but to everyone it seems.", "But for some reason, my grandmother never came through the door, and my grandpa walked in with a blank look in his eyes. They looked dead to me, which is the complete opposite of what they usually generate. He didn’t even say hello. He just walked in, with a bag in his hand.", "My mother asked him, “Where’s Mom?” That of which my grandpa only replied to with, “…She went away for awhile.”", "This puzzled my mother. I could see it in her facial expressions. She tried to bring up more on the subject but Grandpa quickly dismissed it, as if it were no big deal and to stop talking about it. So she did, thinking they must be going through some troubles that he would rather not discuss. Just as my mother and my father had.", "Grandpa looked over at Breanna, (who was currently taking a nap on the couch,) and gave an almost sinister smirk. One that I’ve never seen on his face in my entire life.", "“Isn’t it fascinating how easy it is to watch someone sleep,” He said.", "He and my mom moved into the kitchen, where I finally gave my greetings,\n“Hi Grandpa! How’ve you been?”\nHe replied with a quizzical stare. What was wrong with my grandfather? Why was he not so jumpy and delightful as his previous visits?", "I dismissed the abstract, silent reply, and moved onto my next subject.\n“Whats in the bag?”\nAgain he looked at me with that same stare, but this time he spoke,\n“Just some figurines I found.”\nHe dumped out the bag, which was much more empty than usual. Instead of the ten or twelve action figures he usually brought, what fell from the bag, were two, very old, very creepy looking, tiny action figures. I quickly picked them up to look at them. At first glance they looked like regular old action figures, but the odd thing was, I&’ve never seen them in my life. No cartoon I’ve ever seen or anything have ever had these characters. One looked like an old man, his face riddled with dirt and grime. He was wielding what looked like a short dagger. He was also in loin cloth robes. The other one, also had the face of an old man, but he was wielding a hatchet. His face was also covered in dirt. He also had no clothes to accommodate his figurine body. He looked like one of my sisters Ken dolls that she lost all the clothes too. They were the two creepiest dolls that I’ve ever seen. But on the other hand. As I held them, I began to enjoy them. I had an inexplicable urge to put them in my pocket and keep them…", "I looked up at my grandfather, ready to ask him where he got them. But when I was about to open my mouth, I noticed his expression changed again. He looked as if he was in a silent rage, staring at the dolls, and then almost instantly at me. There was a fire in his dead eyes as he spoke.", "“Give them to me, Now! NOW!”", "I looked at him startled. But by then he had tried lunging at me, for the two figurines. I, being as scared as I was from the incident, shot backwards to avoid his advance toward me.", "My grandfathers knee must have faltered in his attempt to grab the two figurines, because quickly he fell to the ground. My mother quickly reached down and tried to pick him up. But by then he was clutching his heart, and gasping for air in a rather terrifying way. My mother called 911, but he was dead before the ambulance could arrive, from a heart attack.", "In the next week, my grandfathers funeral had taken place. We had no way to contact my grandmother. We had no idea where she could be. So the funeral went on without her. But even whilst all of these sad events were taking place, my obsession for these two figurines began to grow rapidly. Not so much the the old man with the hatchet, as the man with the dagger. My brother, Eric, had subsequently taking a great liking to the man with the hatchet, so I gave it to him. It seemed like no matter where we went. We always had our figurines with us. In my experience with the dagger wielding old man, it gave me a sort of spark in my soul. There’s really no other way to describe it. It kept me eccentric, and happy, in a weird sense.", "In the next coming months though, things had changed. I began to resent the old figurine. It stared at me in the most menacing way, and for some reason, made it unable for me to sleep. I knew I should get rid of the doll..but..I can’t… I’ve tried many times… but I always seem to pick it back up. I can never be rid of it. Not to mention the fact that it was giving me nightmares. And not normal nightmares either. Ones where people are watching me sleep and try to murder me, but more, the other way around. I would have dreams of myself, being in my brother or mother’s room, with a dagger, just as the old man figurine has, and just watching them sleep. Always in the shadow of the corners, never getting too close. And not a nightmare that you realize that you imagined so many different events in a small amount of time. It wasn’t that way at all. I would stand there, for hours, and just watch them sleep… and do nothing. Just… watch.", "These nightmares scared me. But there was nothing that I could do, my brother was just as silent and lifeless anymore as I was, and we had both began to grow apart from our mother and sister. So silence was our only option. And for now, it had been sufficing.", "One night, I woke up startled. I looked around my room to see nothing was there. But felt a cold wetness in my sheets. I reached down and felt the wet area. It seemed I had wet the bed. Oh great, how am i going to explain this to my mother.", "I got up, and immediately looked for my figuring, (I’ve gotten to the point where I go nowhere without it,) but couldn’t find it. It pained me to go anywhere without my seemingly life companion, but I decided just to head to my mother’s room.", "I stepped through her slightly cracked door and walked to her bed. I nudged her trying to wake her up to tell her the embarrassing thing I had done. It was 3am, and very dark in her bedroom with no windows. I tried nudging her again, but something was wrong, she was also wet.", "I turned on he small light on her nightstand, and stood there, awe struck. There..lying in bed..was the cold, lifeless, blood soaked body, of my murdered mother. I looked at myself, I was covered in blood, and my mother looked like she had been carved like someone had been trying to cut pieces out of her. And there, sitting in her neck… was a dagger…", "I grabbed it, and pulled it out of her neck. Its blood soaked blade shined in the dim light of the lamp. And I just stood there terrified, most people scream when they’re scared. But I was passed that point. I couldn’t even muster a sound out of my throat. I froze, scared to even turn around.", "I glanced around my dead mother, and sitting there, on the top of the covers, was my figurine. Dagger in hand, laying there, like my mother was holding it before she fell asleep. Out of instinct I quickly grabbed it. And once I did, I felt its spark come into me again. Without being frightened or worry about my mother anymore, I looked at her body once again. All I could think of was,", "“Isn’t it fascinating how easy it is to watch someone sleep?”", "I took the dagger, and my figurine, and walked ever so slowly, into my brother Eric’s room. For no apparent reason, I just felt the urge. I had too…I had too…", "I crept into his room, and hid in the shadows, staring at his bed. I saw the mound in his bed that was his helpless, sleeping body. And I watched him. I watched him for what seemed to be about two hours, the whole time only thinking.", "“Isn’t it fascinating how easy it is to watch someone sleep?”", "It was almost 5am now, and I was still,… just watching him, when I had another thought flow through my head, this one not in my own voice. But what seemed like the voice of an old man.", "“Gut him, Nicholas, gut him.”", "Without a second thought, and clutching the blood stained dagger in one hand and figurine in the other, I walked over too his bed. I lifted the dagger, and plunged it into the mound that was my brother. But… it felt soft, unlike a body.", "I quickly lifted the covers to see that my brother was not in his bed at all, it was just a mound of covers and pillows that seemed made out to look like a person.", "I stared at the mound, quizzical of what was going on, and then looked at my figurine.", "What have you done to me?", "Abruptly I heard a footstep behind me, I spun around, to see my brother stepping out from behind his curtains. The moonlight shining on his bloodstained face and night shirt. I looked right and saw the mangled, shredded corpse… of our sister.", "I looked back at him, he had obviously been there awhile considering he couldn’t get there without walking right by where I was standing in the first place, and he just stared at me, with a hatchet in his hand, and his figurine in the other as he said,", "“Isn’t it fascinating how easy it is to watch someone watch you sleep?”", "Credit To – Sunshine Wayne", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Puppet Master’s Prayer	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-puppet-masters-prayer/	6.21	March 15, 2013	300	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "It was my senior year at St. Mary’s University, a small Catholic school in Texas. I grew up in San Diego, California, and moving to such a foreign place, I didn’t ever get along with anyone, even by my senior year.", "I was studying to be a theologist, and all of my classes were fairly small, filled with about 20-40 students. My hardest class, Religious Studies was held in an ancient Spanish chapel. It was huge- the ceiling went up about eighty feet, the pews started up pretty high, and eventually ended right in front of the podium. There were crucifixes and saints hanging towards the corners of the ceilings, and their sad eyes stared down at us. The prettiest part of the church were the glass stained windows that brought color into the room and could even illuminated their pale faces.", "It was my least favorite class. I ended up staying up at all hours of the night studying for it, and on that Tuesday morning, the day before our final exam, I woke up twenty minutes late and had to practically run to the chapel.", "When I walked in through the huge, wooden doors, the lights were shut off and the source of light was coming through the stained glass windows and the overhead projector. No one turned around, as I expected them to, not even my professor, who usually started lecturing right as class started and got on to his students for being late. I ignored it, thinking I probably just got lucky.", "After taking my seat in the front row, I started writing down the notes on the projector, and finished fairly quickly. I patiently sat, waiting for my professor to change the slide or something, but he just stood there, back against us, facing the screen.", "“Professor Tomas?”", "With no response after a few seconds, I tried again.", "“Professor Tomas?” I said a little louder. “Can you change the slide?”", "Still, he didn’t answer me, and that’s when I started to suspect something was wrong. I leaned over to try to see his face, but it was too bright against the projector to make out his features. How could he stare at that illuminate projector without being blinded?", "I sat back, straight in my seat and started to stand to leave class since we obviously weren’t doing anything. That’s when I noticed shiny reflections portraying from his back. But after staring at it for a little while, it wasn’t just on his back. I followed the strings of light up to the tall ceilings, but a dark shadow on the dark ceiling ended their paths.", "At that point, I knew something wasn’t right.", "I turned around to find all my peers staring down at their papers, in the exact same position they were in as when I first walked in, with the same strings starting from their backs and making its way up the ceiling.\nI walked over to some guy sitting close to me, some smart ass that always knew the right answers, and gave him a little shove.", "“Hey,” I said, and as soon as I touched him, he fell over, as if he were asleep.", "I looked up to the rest of the class, feeling a chill go down my back. I grabbed my bag and ran back to the door, frantically pushing and pulling at the handles to get out, as far away as possible, but they were locked.", "Then I heard a whisper from behind me.", "“Cor lesu in semel minima dying. Amen misereri.”", "I recognized this from one of my Bible classes. It was a Catholic prayer, only said in Latin.\nSlowly, I turned around.", "30 empty sockets were staring back at me, whispering, their lips moving by two thin strings.", "The prayer for the dying echoed off the walls.", "Credit To – Brandon & Emily", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Girl	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-girl-3/	8.28	March 14, 2013	300	[ "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "Rites and Rituals" ]	[ "This is the story of a girl. She is no ordinary female, however. She is, at first glance, the most beautiful and attractive girl you will have ever met in your life. She has every trait a man could want. She has a magnificent body, a wonderful personality, an unbeatable sense of humor, a kind heart, and she is extremely intelligent.", "There is but one way to make this girl yours, and you must follow these instructions exactly. It may seem a simple task, but it is far more treacherous than any tall, anorexic man with a complexion condition you may ever come to face in the woods or any pale faced, 17 year old Joker fanatic you could ever have the privilege of seeing at the foot of your bed. No this girl is much different. There are 8 steps you must follow precisely to make this girl yours, so precisely in fact that I would advise you to take this with you when attempting the trial.", "1. Make sure its her. You don’t want to be performing some mystical trials you found on the internet to some random chick you thought was hot. She often roams outside flower shops, jewelry stores, and beauty salons, mocking those earthly and mortal possessions that will never be as valuable or fair as she. This girl will appear as I stated before. She changes with every man (or woman). To whomever she meets, she will be the most attractive person that individual could ever dream of. Upon approaching said woman, even her age will change to match the exact date, hour, and second of your own. Aphrodite herself wields no chance of competition. She will be wearing, regardless of the season, a light blue loose long sleeve shirt. She will have on black skinny jeans. The clothing does not have a brand. She is wearing two diamond earrings and a bracelet with several colored, pearl cubes on the loop. Every cube is a different color.", "2. Approach her confidently. This is crucial, and I don’t mean that as in YOU’LL FRICKIN DIE IF YOU DON’T, but she may wave you off. All women like a confident man, especially the perfect one. When you get to her, provided that you look confident (not douche bag confident but enough), she will simply look at you and await your first words. You must utter this sentence exactly. “I have come to earn the perfect partner. Does she accept my trial?” If she does she will simply state “The trial has been accepted. It shall begin at [local restaurant name] at 8:00 PM.” If she does not she’ll just reject you. If you are rejected, you will never see this girl waiting outside any store ever again. She will leave your life completely, because although you thought you had chosen to interact with her, it was really she who had chosen you. You will, in turn, spend the rest of your life seeing every other girl as nowhere in comparison. You will live an existence of regret, depression, and self-destruction.", "3. First date. You must arrive at the restaurant by 8:00 PM or you will never see her again. Don’t worry about reservations or anything. They are already placed. When you see her, be casual, confident, and friendly. It wouldn’t hurt to look good either. Don’t worry about the mystical talk anymore. Everything from now on will be as if she was just a normal date aside from a few exceptions later on. Be casual, funny, considerate, happy, and charming. Have fun, but above all, DO NOT MAKE HER SAD. To know how to get around this ask her “What elements of this world bring your soul pain?” She will list you everything that makes her unhappy, angry, sad, depressed, and just plain not happy. For the next nine dates you will need to know these. Feel free to list them as she tells you. It is crucial you don’t make her upset. If you do AT ANY POINT skip to the end.", "4. You will have set up a second date by the end of the first one. If you didn’t then you have the wrong mythical girl, because this one will have set a second date. Do the same as the first. Just have fun. You may have noticed by now that she never seems to smile. She may smirk, but she never smiles. She even seems to laugh without smiling. This comes into play later. After the date is when things are at a make or break spot. She will tell you this “The time is right. Commit me”. She will then walk away as if nothing happened. Do not follow her. You must get back to your living quarters (house, condo, apartment, mansion, box ‘o’ shit, whatever you live in) as quickly as possible. When you get inside you will find a book and a vial full of clear liquid. Take these to a window where the moon is visible. Open the book. It will be full of pictures of the girl. in every photo she will look sad and depressed. if you look closely you should see small pearl trinkets, much like the ones on her bracelet, sitting next to her in the pictures. At the back of the book will be a photograph of the girl wearing what she was on the day you first talked to her. She will look neutral. Not sad nor happy, but neutral. Open the vial of the clear liquid. On that picture, drop one drop of the liquid from your fingertip onto where the girl’s heart is. Then take another drop and place it on your chest where your heart is. You must then douse the window with the rest of the liquid while the moon shines trough. Make a circle with the liquid with the moon at the center and stand in front of it. You must then say “I commit myself to the perfection and the perfection to me. Let the bond commence.” A single beam of moonlight will shoot through your window and hit you in the chest. As you fall backwards you may feel a slight sting as the liquid drop literally absorbs into your heart. The liquid on the picture will also absorb. If you go back to the picture now, you will notice that you are standing beside her in some generic cute couple pose. She will still seem neutral, but as long as you complete Step 5, that will not stay for long.", "5. You will receive a call on your cell phone some time in the next week (if you don’t own a cell phone you’ll be shocked to notice that you do now). It will be her. Her contact will be listed as whatever name you find most desirable. The number she calls you from will be “1”. That’s it. She will ask if she can come over and watch a movie. Obviously you say yes. When she arrives, you will be greeted upon opening your door with a smile. A smile that could stop time, level mountains, extinguish the sun, set Antarctica on fire, end civilizations, and create world peace all in the same day. it will be the most beautiful smile you will have ever seen. Your soul will be filled with so much happiness that you will feel faint or intoxicated. You yourself will not be able to stop smiling in return. You will, to put in simple terms, absolutely love her. Eventually this will be interrupted by four simple words. “Can I come in?” You then go about watching the movie. Maybe make some snacks. At the end of the movie, she will get up and go for the door. Before she leaves, ask her “Was the bond accepted?” She will turn around, wrap her arms around your neck, and give you the biggest, deepest, and longest kiss you have ever experienced and will ever experience. When she lets go, she will leave. Feel free to pass out now from ecstasy.", "6. Continue dating. That is the only objective right now. Remember to NOT MAKE HER SAD. This includes even insinuating sex. Until you have completed Step 8 you must always watch what you say or do. If you have EVEN ONCE skip to the end. She will begin to look different every time you see her. Her clothes will never wear as well the next day. Her hair will also fall different every time you see her. She will also never run out of things to tell you or discuss. Just go along with this step until the 30th day you’ve been together.", "7. It is day 30. Upon arriving to your set date, you will notice something. The girl you once loved is now wretched and ugly, almost like a corpse. Her eyes are sunk back in her protruding forehead. Her skin sags from every inch of her body. She is grey. Her skin flakes off. Her hair is white wherever there isn’t a bald spot. Her frame is bony and hideous. You must complete this date as though nothing has changed. Love her as if she looked the same. If you upset her or have upset her skip to the end. It is the “True Love” trial. Get passed the looks and find her beautiful anyway by the end of the date, and you will be fine. When you take her outside after the date, you must kiss her once for at least 3 seconds on the lips. Her skin will then fall away revealing the girl you saw on the first day, beautiful as ever and beaming at you as she stares into your eyes. Feel free to the kiss her as passionately and as long as you want under the full moon (it will be full).", "8. The final day in your test has arrived. You will know because you will awake and your heart will be glowing. Literally glowing through your chest (you’re not Iron Man don’t get excited). She will call you on your cell and say “Now is the time of reckoning. Are you prepared?” At this point, if you answer “Yes” things will proceed. If you say “No” then you will never see her or hear from her again. She will arrive at your house on the beginning of the next hour. She will enter and head straight to the bedroom (before you ask, yes this is exactly what it sounds like). Follow her. She will undress. You should follow. Then get down to business. When you both are done, the glow in your chests will become extreme, knocking you both out. When you awake, you will be infatuated with the girl, and she with you. This will wear off slightly after about a month, but you will always remain in the “honeymoon phase”. You can now say whatever you like. She is yours and you hers. Enjoy your life.", "IF YOU MADE HER SAD BEFORE STEP 8:", "Get to your home as quickly as possible. If you haven’t put the liquid in your chest yet then you need only burn the book that is laying on the table. if you have then this is where it gets tricky. You have to stab yourself in the heart. Literally breaking your heart will disable the bond. You must also burn the book with the pictures in it. Keep the blade in the wound to keep from bleeding to death and call 911. If you fail to burn the book (and break your heart if needed) within one hour, the girl will break down your door. Her hair will be jet black, along with her eyes and finger nails. She will be wearing nothing. She will begin to weep at your door frame. As the tears hit the ground they will engorge, transforming into streams of water, filling your house. The stream will burst into a river, sweeping you off your feet and bursting your lungs and stomach as the water floods your esophagus. As the waters consume you, your body will dissolve into them. When you are completely gone, the waters will recede back to the being at your door and slowly center at one spot next to her foot. When all of the water is finally gone, a small pearl trinket of unique color will be lying on the ground next to the girl. The next time a man sees this girl, she will have a new set to her collection, and the next time he goes in the book to seal the bond, there will be another picture of the sad girl standing next to the trinket.", "Credit To – Mahonedog", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Good Night / Good Bye	https://www.creepypasta.com/good-night-good-bye/	7.98	March 13, 2013	301	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "“Do you believe in Cartesian duality?”", "“Cartesian what?”", "“That consciousness is not caused by physical processes but by something else — some sort of soul if you will.”", "“I guess not.”", "“Well, then I guess I shouldn’t-“", "“You promised!”", "“Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. There’s a famous thought experiment that goes like this: In the future, a teleportation device has been invented. It works by creating a perfect copy of whatever is put into it at the receiving end and then destroying the original at the sending end. If you use the machine to travel to Hawaii or something, what comes out will have all your memories, behave exactly like you—it would be impossible for anyone to tell the difference. Now the question is whether this is you—in other words, would you be willing to use this machine?”", "“Um…if the thing that comes out is a perfect replica of me I don’t see why not”", "“Really? Doesn’t your body at the sending end get destroyed though?”", "“Well, my body gets slowly replaced piece by piece every few years anyways. If what comes out is exactly like me for all practical purposes, then there is no reason to think it isn’t me. This is a cute example and all, but I really don’t see the point.”", "“Well, Ok then, let’s try another scenario. You figure out one day that there is a perfect replica of earth in some alternate universe. Of course this other earth has a perfect replica of you, your family, your hometown—everything you care or know about. Unfortunately, someone tells you that it isn’t Ok for these two planets to be exactly the same and that to make them different, either you or your replica has to die. He then surprisingly offers you the choice. Which would you want to survive?”", "“Oh, interesting, I guess my copy will probably be getting the same talk and question, but I would clearly want myself to live. Whether this actually effects the outcome is unclear. I understand the other example better now, but even so, there are never going to be two of me after I step into the teleporter.”", "“I’m not sure you’re getting the point, doesn’t the example with the alternate universes show that even a perfect copy of you isn’t necessarily the same as you?”", "“Hmm, I guess. There’s still no reason to think that what comes out of the receiving end isn’t me though.”", "“Well, let’s go back to the point about there being two of you. Imagine if the teleporter sometimes developed problems and destroyed the sending end copy seconds to minutes after the receiving end copy was created. Now which one is you?”", "“Ah, so in this situation the sending end copy is me and the machine would basically be killing me. But it seems so artificial for whether the receiving end copy is actually me to depend on the specific timing of things. Therefore I guess I would definitely never want to use such a machine.”", "“Right.”", "“Wait, the scariest part about this is that if for whatever reason I did teleport, the me that comes out the other end would have all my memories and therefore remember going through the teleportation machine safely. It would actually think that teleportation is a good idea!”", "“Yeah, you can imagine some poor sucker who thinks he’s gone through thousands of safe teleportations, not realizing his experience only started at the end of the last one and that he just has a bunch of fake memories of all the previous copies of himself.”", "“Wow, that’s sort of terrible.”", "“Anyways, so now that we are on the same page about that—“", "“Wait a second, suddenly my consciousness is tied up to the fixed physical elements of my current body. Why isn’t that silly for the reasons I was talking about before?”", "“Oh, so here it helps to think of your consciousness as some instance of some complicated process run using the bits and pieces that make up your body. While the pieces may switch out over the years the specific instance of the process continues. When your body is completely destroyed by the teleporter, the instance of the process stops and you stop experiencing permanently—in other words, you die.”", "“Ok, fine, I guess that makes sense. The only problem is that I know of thousands of times in my life that my instance of this process has shut off.”", "“Ah, you seem to have hit the crux of the problem. Every time you sleep, right?”", "“Yeah.“", "“Are you sure this isn’t a problem with the argument but instead something that the argument is telling you about sleep?”", "“Stop trying to scare me, I have personal experience of surviving sleep thank you very much.”", "“Um…do you remember the sucker who thought he had been through hundreds of safe teleportations? Another instance of the process drawing on the same intact pool of memories does start when you wake up, after all.”", "“…”", "“Anyways, good night! I guess since there is a good chance that I won’t ever be seeing you again, I should be saying good bye too.”", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Miracle City III: The Doomed Journey	https://www.creepypasta.com/miracle-city-iii-the-doomed-journey/	8.39	March 12, 2013	301	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "This is Reagan Myers again, I realize that this update is very late, and I apologize for that. At this very moment, I’m sitting in a dark bunker with a few others, and I wouldn’t dare venture outside, not after what I’ve just been through. In some ways, I wish I’d never left my own basement as my situation is now a lot more terrifying and hopeless than when I made my first entry. I feel that the only way to hang onto my sanity is to focus on getting this story out there for anyone who still has internet access, and I hope my family members are amongst those that will read this. In honor of those who were lost during my recent journey through Hell, I will try and record these events as accurately as possible while they’re still fresh in my mind.", "As you’ll remember from my last entry, I was hiding in my dark basement from these beings that traveled from another dimension to wipe us out. I’ve studied reports from people around the world, and still there has been no mention of what this deadly race is called. Survivors can only describe them as “shape-shifters”, as they have the ability to change their appearances endless times at will, and they only take the forms of people you recognize. Hopefully there’s someone out there who knows what they really look like. What’s even more fucked up about them is they have a strange energy inside of them that they use to disintegrate their victims, so you can’t risk getting too close.", "My house overlooked the city of Los Angeles, which the shape-shifters attacked, and then armies of them marched into the surrounding areas and killed anyone who was fooled into thinking they were regular people. If you’re hit by a beam of energy, there’s nothing left of you, so when their armies clear out an area, no bodies are left behind, only burning wreckage. Los Angeles was hit very hard, and only a few buildings remain standing after days of devastation. Witnesses say a large portal opened up on the night of the invasion, unleashing thousands of shape-shifters, but now that portal is closed and our “uninvited guests” are here to stay. Once most of them finally left the city, survivors who fled their neighborhoods began taking shelter in the buildings that looked to be abandoned, and I was in that very situation with some courageous people who helped me survive for as long as I have.", "One morning, after several days of hiding, I crammed one backpack full of everything that it could hold, but now I realize I should’ve packed more food. I had enough food and water in my home already, and it would’ve been best to stay put for a few more days, but I couldn’t stay because I needed to find my girlfriend, Samantha Jones. For some lonely nights I waited for messages from both sets of parents in Washington, my aunts, uncles and cousins from Oregon and Idaho, even my grandparents from Florida, and the only message I found was one that I had missed which read, “Happy 23rd Birthday from your one- and-only! I completed my finals early and I’m flying out to see you tonight. Surprise!! See you in a few hours!” from my beautiful Samantha. Her absence was no surprise to me, and the realization that she could be dead was very clear, but my love for her was the reason why she came back to a doomed city, and I had to try and find a way to reach her. She was attending med school at NYU, and wasn’t supposed to visit me until at least another week, but she just happened to choose the worst day in history to return to California.", "After reading Samantha’s message, I tried her cell phone hundreds of times, and only once did I hear her voice, but there was a lot of interference, and she said something that I couldn’t possibly make out before the signal was lost, but her voice definitely sounded panicked. I knew I had to seek her out, she’s the one who still gives me hope that a brighter day is on the horizon. She’s two years younger than me with brown, wavy hair, green eyes, and the nicest smile I’ve ever seen. I’ve known her since high school, and I knew she had to still be alive, as she has great survival skills. She’s told me a story about when she got lost deep in the wilderness for two days, and how her resourcefulness kept her alive and brought her back to civilization.", "With the hope that Samantha and I would unite again, I went against my better judgement, ascended the staircase and took a peek outside. My house was one of the few that hadn’t been completely destroyed. Fires burned constantly, and a crashed helicopter was off in the distance, as well as many cars that had been damaged beyond repair. A battle had clearly been fought right in my own neighborhood while I was boarded up, and it was unclear who had won. The only good sign was that no shifters could be seen anywhere, and that was all the reason I needed to make the journey into the city.", "I slowly opened the door, and then I heard a voice coming from my kitchen that said, “Reagan! I’m so relieved you’re still alive! Come to me!” The voice was of my mom, but it couldn’t have been her, so without turning around I bolted out the door and far away from my house. I hid behind the house from across the street, then looked back to see if the horrible thing was following me. I could see a shadow moving around from the kitchen window, but luckily no one came running out of the house, so I figured the killer being from another dimension decided to be lazy, and moved onward. I walked through my once peaceful neighborhood that would soon be wiped out by fires in a few hours.", "My car had a ton of bullet-holes in it from recent battles, and there wasn’t a single car around that looked drivable, so I decided to take a stroll all the way down to the city. Before heading down, I walked around my street searching for any sign of life, but I didn’t find a single person. I knew I couldn’t stay in the area for too long as some of the invaders had obviously stayed behind, and that’s when my walk to the city started. I passed a few vehicles along the way that were in fine condition, but there were no keys to be found, so I kept moving. I had to cross a highway during my journey, a highway that was deserted instead of busy, and it felt so strange to walk across it because that wouldn’t have been possible any other time.", "As I crossed the highway, I got this feeling that I should stop and wait for a car to come my way, so I did just that. There I was, sitting cross-legged in the middle of an empty highway and hoping for a savior to pick me up, but of course no one came, and as I watched the sun slowly begin to set, I got back on my feet and continued on my way. The eeriness about the absence of people was overwhelming, but I wasn’t about to give up. I walked along a bridge leading into the city, and I eventually felt the urge to start jogging as the sun was setting faster. I ran into the city going very fast, and then stopped dead in my tracks when I heard an explosion, followed soon after by a voice that said in a sharp whisper, “Hey kid! Get up here fast! Move it!”", "I looked up to my right to see a soldier calling to me from the top of a small grocery store, and he quickly set a ladder down, which I didn’t hesitate to climb up. He was “armed to the teeth” as they say, with a sniper-rifle, two machine-guns, and a handgun in a holster. He also had binoculars with many features including night-vision, which he was using to spy on a squad of shifters that just started to march down the street. We both lied on the rooftop and remained very still to avoid detection, and this man asked me if I knew how to fire a gun, which, at the time, I did not. We covered our ears tight when several shifters made a screeching noise, then they slowly began to move away from our area, making it safer to talk again.", "This soldier introduced himself as Tobey Gearhart, a Special Forces member who actually fought against these things when they invaded L.A. He’s a complete badass, but he’s also filled with a lot of regret as he abandoned his own team in the middle of the battle, and the reason he did so was because the invaders used their abilities to make him see only his loved ones. After he left his men behind, the guilt was too much for him to take, and he couldn’t return to his base a coward and a traitor. He decided his only chance at redemption was to help survivors who had been left behind during the evacuation of the city. A couple blocks away was a warehouse with six other survivors that he said he would take me to.", "“Los Angeles was a complete warzone just a few nights ago. An entire army was sent in after my squad became outnumbered, and the only good they did was cause a distraction while others fled. The army didn’t stand a chance because firepower doesn’t kill these maniacs. We can all agree they’re not from our world, and to take them down for good will require a new kind of weapon.” Tobey said, never taking his eyes away from the binoculars. “They’re always marching in groups, and some of them can now drive. Lucky for us, there aren’t that many around here anymore. They have a bigger agenda than just targeting one city.” he informed me. “Have you heard of any safe places that survivors may be fleeing to?” I asked, thinking of my family. “It seems this invasion is global, however, I’ve heard rumors from some people I helped of an island in an undisclosed location. Messages over the internet stated there’s a safe haven on this unknown island in the tropics, but I don’t know what to believe anymore.” With that bit of hope in my mind, Tobey checked to make sure the coast was clear, then he guided me through the empty streets towards the warehouse where some other interesting characters were hiding out.", "The warehouse was dark and the windows were all boarded up with no visible light shining out. The building itself looked like it had been scorched, and there were holes in the walls made by the invaders. The six survivors were gathered in the far left corner of the building, surrounded by boxes of supplies, mattresses and sleeping bags. They came from all walks of life, and were found wandering the streets in search of rescue vehicles when they met Tobey, who led them to a temporary sanctuary. Any vehicle that didn’t escape the city had been decimated during the intense fighting, and these people were left without hope until Tobey showed up.", "The first of the survivors I met was Vic Straker, the lead singer of a punk/metal band who was in the middle of doing a live show when the chaos from the shape-shifters erupted, and everyone, even his own band members, ran out of the venue and left him for dead. His band, Sonicburner, had been touring across the U.S. from Australia, and their timing couldn’t have been worse. I’ll remember Vic for his mohawk, and when I met him he was clutching a shotgun that he recovered from a wrecked police car. I figured from his attitude that he’s no stranger to combat, and I knew he could be a valuable asset. The next person I’ll mention is a director by the name of Wes Barker, who you may have heard of if you’re a fan of the horror genre, which I no longer am.", "Wes Barker was an aging, frustrated man who wouldn’t stop complaining about his recent experiences during an important shoot of his latest horror/action thriller. He was almost finished directing a scene that took place in the middle of the city when his cast and crew suddenly started dying from energy beams. After the movie set was attacked, the only other person to make it to safety besides Wes was a struggling actress named Lisa Wydell, a blonde woman only a few years older than myself who would barely talk to us or make a sound. Wes and Lisa didn’t have the best relationship, as he disapproved of her acting style and regretted casting her in his film, although now his film would never be finished. “Of all the people to survive, it had to be you.” Wes would say to her in front of all of us, crushing her spirits.", "Celeste Thompson is the next person I should talk about, as she was the only other badass besides Tobey and Vic who was prepared to survive an apocalypse. She was a red-headed beauty about the same age as Vic who recently finished a tour of duty in the army, and was ready to jump into action when needed. She had been working as a bartender for extra money when L.A. fell under attack, and took advantage of a fallout shelter that the bar’s owner had secretly installed. Someone the group is nervous about is Ray Cunningham, a man who, according to Tobey, claims to hear voices and have hallucinations, even though he’s seemingly normal for the most part. He apparently was spending time in a mental ward, and the panic from the invaders was enough of a distraction for him to get past the guards and somehow find his way to the warehouse, which was originally his private hiding place.", "Last but not least was none other than Ross Cooper, the news anchor who reported on the false miracle happening in L.A., and that report saved my life. Ross was always the calm and professional one on television, but since that life is over for him and he’s lost everything, now he’s a depressed alcoholic who just made a liquor store run. He was slumped in a corner with a whiskey bottle, crying one second and laughing the next about his rotten luck. During the time in the warehouse, he wouldn’t stop bringing up his co-anchor Melinda Grant, and he was starting to seem more mentally unstable than the guy from the mental ward. “Melinda was the only reason I had for living. I wanted her more than my own wife.” he groaned while the rest of us just let him be, not wanting to converse with him for fear he might start yelling and give away our position.", "A television was on with the volume very low, and Vic was scanning for more news reports when he came across the face of Ross Cooper saying, “Do not be afraid of these visitors. Return to your homes, because the worst is now behind us. The visitors came to this world for peace, and they urge you to not flee in terror, but to accept their arrival. Please, don’t run away. There will be no more violence.” The message was live, and we weren’t about to fall for it since the real Ross Cooper was sitting right in front of us completely hammered. I hate to admit it, but I thought it was clever how the shape-shifters were already starting to mimic friendly faces on television. Ross’s mannerisms were imitated just like I remembered them, and I wondered how many people watching actually believed it was him. “Shut up, you fucking imposter!” Ross shouted at the TV screen before taking a shot of vodka and angrily muttering to himself.", "I convinced the group to keep the TV off after I recalled my Youtube experience where a few shifters were able to turn themselves into my relatives over a video. I still don’t know for certain if they can see us through television screens, but maybe that’s best for my sanity. The night was quiet and eerie as I ate canned food next to the motley crew of survivors, and Tobey was constantly coming in and out of the place with more supplies to last us for a week or two. Others helped him as needed, but he preferred to go on solo missions as he was trained in stealth. Vic flirted with Celeste, Ross let Wes and Ray have a drink with him while sharing past stories, and Lisa sat alone with her thoughts while I desperately tried to contact Samantha while my cell phone’s battery power was still decent.", "After many unsuccessful attempts at reaching my girlfriend, I decided to talk to Lisa who was in a far more miserable state, and I learned a lot about her past like where she was from originally, and the movies she had acted in. “I signed up to make a horror film, now I’m living one. Wes is right, you know, I shouldn’t have been the one to make it out when our set got attacked. I messed up my lines several times during the shoot, and Wes kept ordering more takes. It’s because of me that all those good people were still out on the street when the attackers arrived, don’t you see?” Lisa was a tough one to calm down as she was overwhelmed with survivor’s guilt, but sharing all this with me was therapeutic enough for her to feel better. It was at that point that Celeste, fed up with Vic’s affection toward her, walked over to me and Lisa and placed a machine-gun at our feet. “You’re going to have to learn to fire one of these eventually. Bullets can’t kill those bastards, but they do have an effect on them, so we still have a chance to fight back. Who wants to try first?” she asked us.", "Lisa would have nothing to do with a firearm, but I was willing to see how it worked, so Celeste properly trained me, which I will forever be grateful for. Sometime after the training session, I remember having a very interesting conversation with Ray Cunningham, who doesn’t seem so crazy after all that’s gone down. “I would always see people that doctors told me were imaginary. Usually I would see them either when I was about to fall asleep or when I was just waking up, but on the night of the disaster, I saw those people walking around while I was fully conscience. They spoke to me in the same voices that had been ordering me around since I was a teenager, then a beam of light nearly hit me. The light was beautiful, but I knew of it was dangerous so I ran far away. Now, upon retrospect, I wonder if my hallucinations were visions of this horrible future, and if I missed the chance to warn the world about what was coming.” he said with a long sigh. We all listened to Ray’s story, and who knows, maybe he could indeed see into the future. Since alternate dimensions clearly exist, anything, no matter how insane, now seems possible.", "Suddenly, I heard the distant rumble of a bus, and then Tobey appeared and called me and Vic out to his lookout spot. When the three of us had a good view of the street, Tobey had me look through his binoculars at the bus that was slowly making its way to us. “That bus comes by this place a few hours at a time. I spied on it earlier, and the driver is one of those freaks, and there are a couple others as passengers. They drive around the city looking for weary survivors who think it’s a welcoming party that’s come to save them. It’s an extermination squad on wheels, and I’ve seen too many people who fell for their tricks. I don’t think many people know these things can operate vehicles now.” Tobey said, making me even more enraged at these terrifying beings. “Want to know the part that gets to me most of all?” Vic asked me, “Of all the buses in the city that they could’ve done this with, they chose my fucking tour bus. The name of my band is now a sign of death, it’s insulting.” Another group of survivors that had been hiding a few blocks up made their presence known by shouting to the bus driver, and when the bus pulled over to them and opened its doors, the five of them were vaporized in moments with their screams of pain and terror echoing down the street.", "That night was even scarier than the previous nights hiding in my basement, as one stupid move from any member of the group could get us all killed. None of us slept well except for Ross who had passed out from his drinking, while the rest of us lied awake listening to the distant screeches of our enemies, and we would take turns peering out through the boarded windows at the dark city to see if anyone was sneaking up on us. Just as I had managed to get to sleep, I was quickly awakened by the noise coming from the bus passing by our location, and I just froze and hoped that we wouldn’t be discovered by those things. None of us traveled anywhere the next day as we had enough to live off of, and that evening I finally got what I had been waiting for: a call from Samantha. I was relieved that she was finally in an area where she could reach me.", "“Reagan! I was beginning to lose hope that anyone was still out there! I want to let you know that I’m not in any danger. Those… aliens began attacking the airport just as I left the plane, and I hid with a few others until help finally arrived. These soldiers showed up and transported us to a bunker located in The Hollywood Hills. It’s safe up here, Reagan, I promise.” she said to me. I told her about all I had been through up to that point, and she made the bunker sound like the safest place in the L.A. area, so I guaranteed her I would find a way to get everyone over there. “The sooner you get here, the better. I’ve been told we’re going to be moved soon, but we don’t know where yet. Hurry, Reagan, I love you.” Those words inspired me to cook up a plan, and I knew I needed Tobey’s assistance. After convincing Tobey that the bunker was our salvation, he and I, along with Vic and Celeste, talked for hours in private about the best way to get the group away from the city, keeping in mind that our options for transportation were very limited.", "After going through a couple ideas, we realized what we had to do: steal the bus. Since the bus’s riders were currently the deadliest creatures known to man, the plan would have to be both complicated and suicidal, and would take a miracle to pull off, but we had to try or we would just be sitting around waiting to be found by the shape-shifters. The plan took a while to perfect, and would be tough to break to the others, so Tobey offered to explain it. We gathered around to discuss a most unusual plan.", "“Okay, guys, here’s the deal. There’s a bunker on Hollywood Hills that will give us protection. There are troops there who will do everything to ensure our safety. Since most of the vehicles around this area were lost in the big battle, we figure our best shot of pulling this off is to take that bus that keeps patrolling around, and drive it as far as it can go till it runs out of gas. As you all are aware, you can’t get too close to these things, so we’ll have to be really clever about this.” Tobey explained, holding everyone’s attention. “Now I’ve done some spying missions, and I’ve observed their tactics. The way their system works is, when the driver sees people by the road, he immediately kills them, and anyone who manages to get away is hunted down by his minions. It’s very important that we get all of them off the bus, so Reagan here has volunteered himself as bait. He’ll stand in front of the building directly across from us, wait for the bus to see him, and then get the minions to chase after him. As for the driver, he’s all mine. My sniper-rifle is very high-powered, and one shot should knock him right out of his seat. Once that happens, Vic will be standing close by to take control of the bus. When Vic revs up the engine, the rest of you make a run for that bus, and don’t stop for anything. No one gets left behind, and make sure to only take supplies that won’t slow you down. Come morning, we’re leaving this place behind for good, all of us, so rest while you can.” Tobey concluded. “So much for me being the insane one.” Ray said. Lisa looked over at me and said, “I also volunteer to be the bait.” to which Wes responded, “For crying out loud, Lisa, don’t do it. The whole thing’s a suicide mission.” Lisa glared at her director and snapped back, “Oh now you decide to show some compassion? It’s too late, Wes, I’m done listening to you.”", "So with that, the plan was a go, and Tobey went on one last solo mission, returning with three grenades and another machine-gun that he recovered for the remains of a struggle. Lisa finally let Celeste teach her how to use a firearm, Ross finished up the bottles of liquor that were too bulky to carry, and the rest of us fought to get sleep as we would need every second of it. When the morning came, I found Tobey back on top of the building cleaning his sniper-rifle, and he gave me the signal that the bus was coming our way, so I woke Lisa up and we ran outside and got into our positions. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, the sun was baking us, and our transport was approaching from the distance. We were to appear as two weary, clueless travelers, and the realization of how stupid I was for volunteering was killing me.", "Lisa turned and gave me a nod, ensuring me she was ready, and then the two of us started waving wildly into the air. The bus increased its speed, and Lisa gripped my hand tight as it was about to pull up in front of us. When it came to a halt, and the doors swung open, Lisa and I ran in different directions into the abandoned building behind us, which was a city library that had been condemned shortly before the invasion. The library was big enough with plenty of spots to hide, but three shifter minions were hot on our trails, taking the guises of police officers. I couldn’t see Lisa at all in the dark library, and as I hid behind a large, wide bookshelf, I heard one of the shifters say, “There’s no need to hide, just come on out now. We’re here to help you.”", "From where I was sitting, I could see Tobey on top of the warehouse with Celeste by his side, taking careful aim at the driver. The doors of the bus were still wide open, and with one shot, he went flying out of his seat just as planned, and Vic popped out from a dumpster and pumped three rounds into him from his shotgun to keep him on the ground while he took back the bus that was rightfully his. When I heard Vic start the bus up, I wanted to run for my life, but I had to find Lisa first, so I very quietly snuck around the large room, and the light shining in put the silhouettes of the minions in my viewpoint. When the minions realized what was going on outside, two of the three ran out of the library, only to be fired upon by Tobey and Celeste. I used the light from my cell phone to make my way through the library, quickly scanning all over until I found her hiding behind a checkout counter, and I pulled her up and escorted her out of the building.", "As we were near the exit, a shifter appeared right in front of us and spoke using the voice of Samantha, who said, “Why would you run away, Reagan? Aren’t I your one-and-only?” I shoved Lisa away from me and prepared for the shifter to unleash its energy, when Celeste and Ray entered the room, both armed, and I made my escape along with Lisa as the two of them shot the alien far back away from us before leaving as well. Everyone else was already onboard as we climbed in… except for Tobey who was still at his vantage point shooting the enemies. We all watched him, hoping he would run down soon and join us, and even though he kept giving us signals to leave without him, we simply couldn’t. Another problem was headed our way, as it seemed all of our shooting had attracted a whole army of those things, and that’s why Tobey wanted us to leave so bad.", "He stopped to quickly reload his sniper-rifle, but just as he did so, several beams were fired at the rooftop, and the next thing we saw was him falling through a large hole that the blasts made, and our hearts sank. “He’s dead, I know it.” Ross said sorrowfully, but Wes disagreed, saying, “I’m going back in there, he’s too valuable to us! Everyone wait here, and I’ll be right back!” Some of us protested, but Wes pushed the backdoors open and ran into the warehouse to get Tobey out, assuming he was still alive. It was a nail-biting situation, as our group was very vulnerable as the shifter army was getting closer every second. Vic in particular was getting overly anxious waiting for Wes, and he was about to drive off when we finally saw Wes come back out of the warehouse, dragging an injured Tobey with him.", "Tobey’s sniper-rifle and machine-gun were strapped to his left shoulder, and he was too weak to stand as, apparently, he had been impaled through the right side of his abdomen by a pipe, which thankfully missed his vital organs but was making him bleed out fast. Wes was using all of his strength to help him along, and Ray jumped out to assist and lift the injured warrior inside the bus. Before Vic could speed away, a beam of energy struck Wes, and he was split right down the middle with only half of his body burning away. Lisa screamed the loudest as the body of Wes Barker hit the ground with guts spilling out and the remaining eye staring back at us. Celeste and I slammed the doors, and Vic gunned his tour bus to its top speed as we escaped from the beings that had just started closing in.", "It was an incredible getaway, but Tobey still needed saving, so Lisa helped him put pressure on his wound while a few of us used our own clothing to wrap up the wound tightly. Vic asked if he was going to make it, and Tobey gave a thumbs-up sign which made us all relieved. The group had brought along all the weapons including the grenades plus extra ammo clips, and there were a couple plastic bags stuffed with as many canned goods as they could fit. The ride was very bumpy as we were going over a lot of wreckage in the road ahead, but Vic kept us on the path and kept the speed the same level as he showed his excellence in driving. Shook up by the sight of blood and the death of Wes, no one spoke as we saw that we would be at The Hollywood Hills in no time.", "After a few nerve-racking minutes, we were nearly away from the city when another alien army was seen marching directly at us, and Vic swerved to the left. Some of their blasts hit us, and the bus shook violently, then we noticed our bus was on fire. The fire was slowly spreading from the back to the front, and a few more blasts made the fire start to engulf the entire vehicle. Vic still had his foot on the gas, and Lisa shouted, “Stop! We have to get off this thing!” to which Vic shouted back, “I can’t do that yet! I have to get us out of their range first!” Vic continued driving the burning transport with the rest of us urging him to stop, then he slammed on the breaks and we grabbed what we could and exited before the whole thing exploded into a giant inferno.", "Although we had survived the explosion, every shifter was aware that humans were still in the city, and there was an uproar of menacing noises as we moved onward. We didn’t know how long we had before they would catch up to us, but we had no choice, we had to walk the rest of the way, and Tobey wasn’t in the greatest position to make the journey. He had gained some of his strength back, but was in too much pain to keep up the pace with us as he pressed tightly against his wound. He called us all over to deliver the bad news, and handed his sniper-rifle over to Vic. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to travel with you guys. I’m hurt too bad, and I’d only slow you down so those things can find us easier, and then we’re all dead. Give me the grenades, and I’ll hold them off while you make a run for the hills.” Tobey said.", "He kept his machine-gun, and would lead the shifters away, so we each thanked him for helping us make it through the disaster, then we watched as he split from the group for good. Before he parted ways with us, he asked Ross for his steel alcohol container that had just been refilled, which he tossed over to him, and in return, he gave Ross a handgun. Tobey gulped down the liquor, enjoying one last positive sensation, then went on his way as we ran in the opposite direction. While keeping up with the group, I was the only one to look back and see him go out like the hero he was, alerting the shifters to his position by using the grenades, then charging at them and firing wildly. He didn’t even flee when dozens of beams were fired at him, and just like that, Tobey Gearhart was gone in a blaze of glory, and I will make sure that he is never forgotten.", "The trek up to The Hollywood Hills took longer than we imagined, and the heat didn’t exactly make things easier, nor did the lack of water as most of it had been lost in the explosion. Some of the food and ammo was also lost, but we planned to conserve what we had, and we were a tight unit by that point so we knew we could trust each other. I couldn’t get Samantha or anyone to contact me on my cell phone, which was nearly out of power, so we had to simply guess where the bunker was, and look for structures that were still standing. The journey was very tiring, as we all looked very weary after too long. Celeste led the group, and let me hold her weapon, which she was tired of carrying for so long.", "After passing by many destroyed buildings, we noticed one not too far away from us where people could be seen. Suddenly, Celeste dropped to the ground, and it took us a few moments to realize that she had been shot through the heart, and died instantly. Saddened but ready for a confrontation, Vic told us all to get behind cover and wait to fire back which we did without hesitation. Vic gave Lisa his shotgun so we would all be armed, and used his rifle’s scope to watch for activity from the base while the rest of us hid behind wrecked cars and houses, preparing to act like a bunch of commandos. “What do you see over there?” Ray asked Vic, who replied, “Looks like they’re sending someone out to meet with us. It’s just one guy, and I don’t recognize his face, so he’s definitely human. Whether they meant to start a fight or not, they’re going to get one.” he said with his trigger-finger ready.", "The unidentified man wore a black suit, looked very professional, and had his arms raised, as he made his way over to us. Guns were pointed at him from all directions as he prepared to introduce himself. “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed. I’m Agent Matthews, and I run the place that you see before you. I give you all my sincerest apologies for the loss of your friend. Our sniper was certain she was one of those creatures, and going against my orders, he regrettably open-fired. I assure you that he is being dealt with as we speak. You have to understand that we are all on very high-alert as just one of those things could ruin our entire operation.” the man said, calmly. “She was innocent, and your man gunned her down in the blink of an eye. You picked the wrong time for a peace talk, my friend.” Vic responded. “Look, I completely understand what you’re all feeling, and I know it doesn’t seem right to trust me or my squad right now, but I offer you food, water, a nice place to sleep and the best security I know. Survivors around here haven’t been seen for days, but we are prepared to help the entire community, and my organization was responsible for getting a large percentage of people away from the city. You’ll spend one night here, two at the most, and then we’ll get air support and you’ll be off to a better life.” Matthews explained.", "We knew it was crazy to trust people who had just killed one of our own, but what other choice did we have? Before we followed the agent inside, I asked him if there were any civilians in the base, and he confirmed that there were, which made me the only one eager to enter the facility. We all felt sick leaving Celeste’s body to rot, but at least she didn’t suffer like the victims of the shifters. When we got closer to the base that had the appearance of a rusty old building, Matthews gave a signal to his guards, and rusted metal doors opened up to reveal a place that looked brand new on the inside, with many troopers and staff members with lab coats. The troopers wore metallic, black armor, and they made us give up our weapons and patted us down before we could enter.", "Their main base of operations was conducted underground, which we were directed to, and entrance to that area was protected by bulletproof doors. The downstairs was massive and filled with computers and lab equipment, and a majority of it was off-limits to us, so Matthews led us to the guest quarters of the bunker, and that’s when I saw her. We immediately embraced each other, as both of us thought there was no hope left in this world. Samantha looked like she hadn’t slept or taken care of herself in days, and couldn’t hold back the flow of tears, which was something I couldn’t resist either. While she and I had our moment, the others were shown to the cafeteria and the sleeping quarters.", "“Reagan, I thought I’d never see you again! These people saved me, and I owe them my life. Impressive operation they’ve got here, don’t you think? It makes you wonder how long they’ve had this up and running.” Samantha said. I asked her who else had been with her, and she introduced me to Max and Sandra Smithie, a newlywed couple that was with Samantha during the assault on the L.A. airport. It’s interesting, yet unfortunate to note that Max Smithie had recently been offered a job at the studio Wes Barker owned, and I didn’t have the heart to bring up Wes’s story. “Agent Matthews is a nice man, he gets me whatever I ask for, but he never answers any of my questions. Being the daughter of a marine, I know more about the military than you’d think, and the troops working for him are wearing uniforms I’ve never seen before. There’s a huge secret going on. I overheard two scientists talking about a company-run island that survivors are going to.” Samantha told me, and I replied that I’d heard the same thing. “I haven’t been able to get in touch with any of my family, and I think they’re on that island. Maybe that’s where we’re going tomorrow.” she said in a hopeful tone.", "After more talk of the mysterious island, I was very intrigued, but Matthews was the only one who ever cared to speak to us, and most of the time he was on his cell phone talking to who knows who. I made sure to introduce my love to the others, and everyone was polite to her except for Ross, who was getting antisocial as he was sobering up. To our surprise, after a long chat with some of the guards, Vic had been able to talk them into letting him have his shotgun back, which he said he would sleep with until the worst was over. Lisa was more than eager to tell her story to Samantha, and the two bonded very well. It didn’t take us long to make the secret bunker our temporary home… at least I hope it will be temporary.", "It was much easier to fall asleep that night, unfortunately our peaceful rest didn’t last long as we were woken up by alarms, and we soon figured out that the base was under attack. When we ran out into the lab area, we were shocked to find that a majority of the equipment had already been packed up, and most of the staff had been evacuated. There were only a few scientists left, frantically grabbing what they could and rushing upstairs, and we followed close behind, making sure we were all together. When we got upstairs, most of the building was missing from energy blasts, and helicopters were starting to take off with the remainder of us screaming at them to wait up. They didn’t wait for us, taking off with all the troopers instead and leaving us to die.", "Before the helicopters left, I saw the face of Agent Matthews look back at me from one of the cockpits, and I was filled with so much rage, but that feeling left when energy blasts vaporized a few of the scientists in front of my eyes. Luckily, everyone from my group was still alive, and we ran back down to the basement and slammed the doors shut. The last glimpse I saw of the outside world was Max and Sandra burning up into nothingness. The power in what was left of the facility didn’t last long, but we found a couple flashlights, and a few computers were left behind. We figured the shifters would try and blast their way through the basement doors, but they never did, probably opting to chase after the scientists who managed to run away from the bunker instead.", "So that’s my update for now, and I’m sorry it didn’t have the ending you may have wanted to read. I am in a far worse situation than my last report detailed, as there aren’t enough supplies to last us for even a week, and our enemies could easily decide to search the place again, and that would seal our doom. We’re all very silent now, and Vic has the only firearm, which he’s been pointing at the door all night. I’m quite sure this will be my final report, but I know there’s a chance that those people will come back for us. To anyone who gets this, don’t forget to spread the word about six brave souls trapped somewhere in The Hollywood Hills.", "Credit To – J. Stan Shocker", "Related: Miracle City & Miracle City II: Another Perspective", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Take the Four-Thirty Six	https://www.creepypasta.com/take-the-four-thirty-six/	5.77	March 11, 2013	301	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Hollis Gommer sat on a bench, one shoelace irreverently untied, the laces brushing against the dusty concrete, the other tied in a pristine double knot, hardly untied for several days now. The evening sun beat upon the back of his head, even filtered through several layers of pink and orange clouds. He wondered somewhere in the back of his mind why his hair felt so warm, like his back was to an oven, he thought. He wondered what was cooking in that oven. It must be cornbread, he could almost smell it, a slightly sweet, slightly pungent aroma wafting lazily up one nostril, down the other and across his tongue. He could taste it, the grainy yellowness, buttered, with jam, blackberry, not the stuff with the little seeds that catch between each and every tooth, but the smooth kind, a little bitter, a little sweet.", "A bus went by. He looked at the old digital wristwatch on his right hand—the six-forty two. He needed the seven-something. He thought to himself, which was it, the O-one, the twelve? Damn it all. He looked to his left, north, from where he came, not too long ago, still too recent to know the bus system he reckoned. He looked to his right, south, he thought, home, somewhere.\nThere was nothing around him. The road was cracked and dry. A slight breeze gave relief to the droplets forming on his forehead, and he let out a sigh. The cold of the night would fall soon. He knew that he needed to be indoors before the sun fell. He looked back behind him towards the sun and squinted, his eyes feeling like they would split in four, roll back and stretch by the very optical nerve down his low cheekbones.", "The orange and blue that swirled around the sun quickly faded to the east into a deep velvety purple. Far off into the horizon, specks started appearing, little pricks of light, little pricks Hollis thought, who are they? Burning for thousands of years, sitting in space, spinning around, twirling their celestial dance to no end, to no cadence, to no rhythm, to nothing, no point. He turned his head back to the sun, almost at the horizon and thanked himself for it. He knew as well as anyone only one thing. The buses didn’t run once the sun went down.", "He looked to his right and saw something far off in the distance. A cloud of dust, nothing more he thought, but it got closer, a rickety old school bus it looked like, the side panels long since faded from their bold yellow into a grimy filth. He tried to place the color as the bus drew nearer—white maybe? No, eggshell white? He tried to think harder as a slight pain erupted in his left temple—eggshell—he was hungry enough to take even one of those right now, but cornbread would be better.", "The sun was almost down and a shiver went through his spine. He crossed the road and waited. The old machine rattled closer and closer. Something about it didn’t sit right in the pit of his bowels. As it came closer and closer, he could tell that it was moving at a speed that no vehicle of that age could handle, it had to have been going ninety down that old desert road. Ninety? Maybe eighty, his eyes were deceiving him, no it had to be going only fifty. He realized then that it was slowing down, forty maybe, thirty. It screeched to a halt in front of him and the door opened. The bus driver sat behind the wheel, crouched down, white wispy hair hanging low below his eyes. Hollis couldn’t see his eyes. They remained trained forward staring at the road. His stomach did something of a somersault as he stared at the steps leading up to the bus. A dried green slime caked the steps, bleeding over like a stagnant waterfall, dripping over, step by step by step.", "He looked up at the driver.", "Still nothing. He heard no voices coming from the bus, only the low rumble of an engine far past its prime.\nHe listened still, stillness, Hollis stood still, he looked at his watch on his left wrist now—fifty-seven. Close enough? He thought to himself. A bus is a bus. Even Hollis couldn’t deny that fact. A bus. Is a bus. Maybe going to way from which he came, but still, he looked to the west at the sun, now half below the horizon, the purple spreading farther and farther to the west as the gold ochre disappeared.", "Hollis stepped forward and grabbed the rail, hardly thinking. It felt cold in his hands, ice in his palms, sweaty from the sheer oddness of the vehicle, even Hollis thought it was strange, as if a single snowflake had fallen onto his tongue, melting quickly in a spike of chills. The seats were empty, the old fake leather cracking with no attempt at repairs, no tape or glue, just spiderwebbing fractures in nearly every seat.", "“Sun’s almost down,” he said to the driver with a cautious smile as he took the front right seat.", "“Hmm.” The driver kept looking forward through his matted and greasy hair. The engine roared as he slammed his right foot down on the accelerator. Hollis could feel himself being pressed back against the back of his seat and his heart leapt, skipping a beat, if he had been keeping track.\nHollis looked out the window at the scenery—nothing, nothing for miles, only dead grass and woody trees, no leaves, no bushes, only the quickly fading light casting long shadows over the land. Every last smudge of light in the east had been replaced with a deep velvety royal purple. The road seemed to go on and on, as the bus seemed to accelerate more and more. An orange moon was peeking out over the horizon.", "“Moon’s coming up,” Hollis said, never breaking his gaze at the orb. He would swear that he could actually see it rising, making its nightly debut in the eastern sky.\n“It’ll start soon,” said the driver, his eyes fixated on the road.\n“What’s that?” It only then occurred to Hollis to wonder where he was going exactly. He only cared that he was on the bus going somewhere, maybe not the seven-something, but the late sixes is close enough to the early sevens, he supposed, six-forty five may have been better, safer he thought, what was this? The six-fifty two? Fifty seven? He wondered again what he should have taken. But, then again, a bus is a bus he thought, a bus is a bus is a bus, the wheels, the steering wheel, the engine, it goes, he thought and he stays still, he thought. His feet worked, but not well. He looked back out the window, the moon now in full view. He remembered a long time ago, sitting on a tire swing, hanging low from an old oak tree in someone’s yard, his papa’s, he thought, maybe, or maybe a neighbors, looking up at the moon, in the years before the grass died, before the sun had baked the dirt into a dusty cake.", "“Where’s that?” He repeated.\n“You got on the bus.” The driver replied nonchalantly, eyes still pasted to the road.\nHollis was confused.\n“You got on the bus and the bus only goes one place.”\n“Where’s that?” Hollis said once again.\n“I only go one place.”\n“Where’s that?” he said once again, starting to get aggravated, something that didn’t happen very often. He remembered the last time he had gotten aggravated; or rather he recalled what little he could of it, a red flash followed by running, lots of running, his feet hurting, his hands stained with something warm and squishy, he wasn’t sure why he was running, but his ankles buckled and he fell, fell hard onto the gritty ground, scraping his knees through his faded jeans, raw, a searing blinding heat shooting up his thighs into his stomach and he vomited—hard, expelling nothing.\n“Only one place I go; you got on the bus, I thought you knew.”\nHe paused.\n“I don’t turn around.” The driver said.\n“Should I ask you to?” Hollis’ stomach fell several inches, into his colon it felt like and he felt like he was going to vomit nothing again.\nThe driver let out a low chuckle and offered no answer.", "Hollis felt the bus slow down, he was pushed forward by the force of the rapid deceleration. His face squished against the cold textured barrier in front of him and the bus was stopped. He stood up and ran down the grimy steps. He found himself amidst crowds, crowds of a magnitude he had never seen before. It was a metropolis without the buildings. There were no buildings anymore, not like there used to be, not like the monolithic testaments to the empirical imperialism of mankind that used to dot the landscape like a rash on the earth.", "No one was dressed well. Rags at best. Trench coats to keep warm against the night. Every single person seemed to be going in the same direction—towards a collection of bright fluorescent lights on the horizon, just over a hill.", "Hollis lightly grabbed the arm of a passing stranger, “where is everyone going?”", "The stranger looked at him, eyes glazed over, pupils dilated, and shied away as quickly as he could. Hollis resigned himself to simply follow the crowd. They were a motley crowd, clothed in everything from rags to the finest coats. Nobody seemed to speak a word, it struck him as odd. The silence to him seemed loud, his own thoughts seemed to grow louder, persistently begging him to neither turn back nor keep going, or to stay put. He would do no good here or there, there or here, hither, thither, point A or point Q, F, Y, or V, he thought, no points mattered anymore. He walked up the hill with the crowd and just as the hill came to a peak, he could see a massive behemoth of a structure, at least ten stories high, at least, perhaps even more, he couldn’t tell. Hollis stopped where he stood and looked, and stared, he could do no more, he had not seen such a structure since, since—he thought harder, since the hospital, he thought, but maybe that was smaller, it sure seemed big, but his cold white room was small and sterile, two beds and a roommate rocking back and forth in the fetal position murmuring to himself, the queen, she stole it, she stole my heart, the damned queen, stole my spade, how can I dig now, I have to dig my own grave, gravity is lying, if you’re not dying you’re lying, if you’re lying you’re still dying every day, they sun passes, bakes the earth, the earth roasts, roasts in a pan, panning back and forth, of course, of course, of course—Hollis would cover his ears—of course, courtly fanatics fantasize over the strangest thing, don’t you think Hollis? Hollis? He pressed his hands over his ears even tighter—Hollis? He grew louder. Can’t you see it’s all a lie? If you’re dying you’re lying if you’re lying you’re still dying just putting on a store front, window shopping through life, I forgot, I should call my wife, she doesn’t know I took a vacation—you’re not married, Hollis thought, his hands over his ears as tight as they could possibly be.", "The biggest thing since the hospital, but monumentally larger, it was round, shaped like a pie tin with an open roof, all stark and bare concrete, a gray slate colored smooth surface from what he could tell. The walls of the structure angled out slightly, supported by immense columns of the same makeup, cold grey, smooth, industrial. The whole thing looked like it was barely finished.", "He ventured down the hill, still following the crowd, growing louder and louder with each passing step, a general hum in his ears, and he was glad, his thoughts were covered, gently muffled like a pillow over his cognitive ears, no more former roommate babbling on. He recalled further what he could, a red flash, no running this time, just a red flash across his eyes and an burst of motion across the room. Not until he could feel the warm throbbing of his throat in between his hands was his roommate quiet, but still his words echoed after attendants rushed in and restrained him, if you’re not lying you’re dying if you’re lying you’re still dying slowly, painfully, more painfully than any pins forced beneath your fingernails, slowly, hear them squish as they force the flesh out…", "Hollis felt no anger towards his old roommate. It only was. And was it was, he thought, thinking, was, he thought, wondering again what this building was. He could hear noise from it, a dull roar, a hissing, like white noise from a television set, like the slow trickle of a whispering stream intensified, over a waterfall, tumbling down with the television set, the glass tubes and bowed out screen cracking and splitting as they chased the water down the rocks.", "He thought he could hear the glass breaking as he drew nearer and nearer to the building. He could tell now that it was a kind of stadium. He tried to fight his way out of the crowd, but it was too dense, people were packed shoulder to shoulder as they filed into an entrance, a door at least twenty feet high, twenty? He thought, maybe thirty? Before he could determine the exact height of the entrance, it was too late, he was already in.\nAs soon as he entered the monstrosity of a structure, the high density of the crowd immediately slackened, no longer shoulder to shoulder, Hollis finally felt like he could breathe again. He let each breath slowly enter his lungs, and exit his lungs, enter, exit, in, out, inhale exhale, he thought as the violet blue electricity running through his nerves subsided into a dull hum. It seemed to be the same kind of crowd as outside, eclectic in their mix, electric in their energy, all abuzz about something, something was happening, something was transpiring. Hollis realized that he was in a smaller hall, even though the ceiling was about three stories high. Vendors stood alongside the walls shouting out words that Hollis couldn’t recognize at the top of their lungs, an attempt to draw in customers. The walls were just as bare as the outside of the structure, flat matte concrete, a dull bluish grey. It seemed fresh almost, like it had been built less than a few hours ago, but he knew that it had to have been longer than that, at the same time, it seemed as though it had sat there for a millennia, untouched by the years, unscarred by the rain, unscathed by the thunder and passing wind, blowing over the desert plains in furious gusts on almost a nightly basis, kicking up dust in giant cyclones of litter and dirt, floating across the flatlands.\nThe smaller hall seemed to be adjacent to a much larger room, from which emanated a sound, a dull roar, what had to have been the voices of twenty-thousand people or more, all attempting to talk over one another, not shouting, but cumulatively an aural force to be reckoned with. He stepped into the main room in what was clearly now a stadium. A sea of faces seemed to all stare at him as he walked into one of the upper levels.", "He was tired. He felt like he had been on his feet for hours. He looked at his watch, approaching midnight it looked like, perhaps he had, but he couldn’t recall exactly. It didn’t matter. There were places to sit, benches, made out of that same concrete, that same blue-gray cement. He squeezed into one of the rows, already packed with people and managed to find a seat between two larger men, both seeming to look down at him as he took his seat.", "The lights changed. They went from a neutral white light to a deep soft amber, and changed again to a heavy scarlet. The crowd went silent.\nDown in the middle of the stadium was a stage, a small platform, no more than maybe ten feet high, with a staircase leading up to it. A man climbed the staircase as the lights changed again, this time to turquoise, a color that seemed to hurt Hollis’ eyes. He squinted and he could see a small man walk up onto the stage as the crowd’s noise fell down from its dull roar. The man had no microphone, no amplification, but his deep voice carried to each and every set of ears in the massive stadium.", "“If you aren’t lying you’re dying.” Hollis’ ears perked up and his eyes narrowed; the lights shifted back to red. “And if you’re lying, still, still as the night in rebound flight, you’re dying,” he knew this man, he remembered again back at the hospital, his hands around his neck, a rush of attendants and a quick shot to the rear then silence and restraint. “Still-hearted over cold hands with the one, tick, two, tock, three across an ivory face, to wherever mice may flee and men will flock,” the crowd cheered, “when they see and hear the hands and bells at ten just to pretend no ringing touched them, even then, only a small heart and smaller mind to defend,” a sense of rage began to build in Hollis, “they’re lying, but no, it’s only pretend, no mice of men the truth, failed to defend, only a deaf ear, of fear, of pain of washed out chalk in the summer rain, defend the one ear, but the rat of mice defends both, no pretend there, a blind ear to fear, no way to see scared.” The crowd erupted in applause and cheering. “Enjoy the spectacle,” he ended.", "Hollis’ neighbor looked at him, “You look tense.”\nHollis said nothing.\n“Here,” he said handing Hollis a green metallic bottle “drink this.” Hollis thought nothing of it, he was, after all, quite thirsty. He downed the entire bottle in a few swigs, it felt strange in his throat, bubbly, but not carbonated, lightly fluffy, he thought, and it was sweet, oh was it sweet, it made his teeth hurt for some reason, not a sharp pain, but a dull ache, somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that he perhaps shouldn’t drink something of this nature, but he was too enthralled with what was going on down on the floor.", "Two of the largest doors Hollis had ever seen opened up on opposite ends of the stadium and two beasts emerged, one feline looking, blue with white stripes, the other bright orange, reptilian in nature. They stood at the opposite ends and seemed to stare down each other, both with hands at holsters. The crowd was silent and Hollis could hear the swift breeze outside echoing through the many doors and openings of the arena.\n“You feel it yet?” whispered his neighbor.\nHollis wasn’t sure what he meant. What was he supposed to feel, he wondered as he often did.\n“You all right buddy?” Hollis wasn’t sure again but something seemed off. His nerves were buzzing again, a violet-purple wave of electricity seemed to run through his body, from the tips of his toes to the top of his skull, buzzing, vibrating violently in an array of some bizarre sensation he had never felt before.", "He pulled back from his neighbor as the man’s right eye slowly lowered itself onto his high cheekbone. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and they didn’t stop rising, they raised up into a perfect bushy point, far above his hairline. Hollis took deep breaths, in, out, inhale, exhale, he thought, just keep breathing, he thought, but no amount of breathing seemed to bring him enough oxygen. His chest expanded and contracted, painfully almost.", "His heart leapt as the crowd erupted; he looked down below him and all he could see was a violent torrent of red and orange, blue and white. He looked back at his neighbor. His eye seemed to be back closer to his socket, and he let out a sigh of relief, only to be jolted back again when his neighbor almost aggressively nudged him and gave him a sadistic smile, “I knew you’d like it.”", "The crowd continued cheering as the colors went back and forth, occasionally backing off from each other long enough for Hollis to see the two beasts, their sides moving up and down in labored breath, clearly torn from the relatively serious altercation. A wave of energy ran through his spine once again, making him feel nauseous, he bent forward and heaved but nothing came out, after all, he had a difficult time recalling the last thing he had eaten.", "He looked back at his neighbor and tried to ask what he had given him, but no words came out, his tongue seemed to be frozen in between his cheeks. He looked at his watch to see how much time had passed—three-forty two. A jolt ran through his body once again as he wondered how much time could have possible passed. Had he really just watched the swirling spectacle for over two hours, or three hours? Was it four? How long had he been in that seat? His mind turned back to his ex-roommate from the hospital and Hollis wondered where he was now. He was obviously still somewhere in the arena. He looked back at his watch and he realized he could no longer make any sense of the numbers, they were all just points of light on his wrist, emanating a strange neon glow onto his arm, stretching and swirling around his arm-hair, twisting and contorting in shapes he had never seen or even contemplated before.\nThe crowd cheered again and it was over. The dull roar of a thousand intoxicated conversations resumed as people started to file out of the place. Hollis tried to slip through the crowd as quickly as he could to get back out into the open air. He went through and between, maybe even over, he couldn’t tell and he didn’t care, he just wanted to be back. Back where? He thought. Back where, back where, not the hospital, not the bus stop, he tried to remember where he had been before, before, before the bus stop, before the hospital, before the road…", "He found his neighbor again and he grabbed his arm, “how do I get out of here?”\n“What do you mean, you follow the crowd and leave.”\n“Is there a bus?”\n“Take the four-thirty six.” He said.\nFour-thirty six, thirty six, thirty six, he repeated in his head, he couldn’t forget, he needed to be out, to be away to be back to be somewhere once again.", "He was out. The wind had picked up and was fiercely howling from the west. It kicked up the dirt and stung his face and the grit got into his eyes. The crowd seemed to melt into one entity, uniformly swaying back and forth, walking back up the hill towards nothing.", "Or maybe something. He could hear the rumble of an engine, maybe two or three. As he walked up the hill, they sound became louder, much stronger, and he knew that there was a possible way out, a way back, back somewhere, a somewhere he didn’t know but a somewhere nonetheless—a somewhere is a somewhere.\nHe looked at his watch, the numbers making something of sense once again—four-twenty two. He breathed a sigh of relief, he still had time.", "Hollis was on the tail end of the crowd and his legs were hurting again, they burned like they had never burned before, he kept stopping to look at the path he was on as it twisted and contorted like everything else around him, marveling at how he was able to keep a straight line in walking. The bland colors that he had seen before were now all shades of green and brown, blue, and an occasional red in the dirt. He finally came to the peak of the hill and saw buses of all shapes and colors leaving. His heart sank as his possibility for a ride diminished. But there was one left, the same one, it seemed, that had taken him there to begin with, the same eggshell-white rickety old schoolbus. He quickly got on the bus and the driver gave him no regards yet again, he just stared through his white and gray greasy cheek-length hair.", "The engines rumble grew as he shifted out of neutral and into gear, the vibrations shaking Hollis’ body and making him want to vomit again, his stomach twisting and turning, not unlike his surroundings, still at times an amorphous blob of all sorts of colors and shapes, things he could not reckon with, things he could not make sense of.", "The bus started down the road, slow at first. Hollis looked out the window and saw that they were on a bridge over some large body of water, the moon, now high in the sky, reflecting boldly over the water shone brightly into his dilated pupils. He looked down at his seat, trying to escape the inundation of discernment, something he had long since lost, he thought to himself as best he could, is this the world? Where have I been? He looked back out of the window and saw that they were no longer on the bridge but in a forest, a dark dense blend of dark evergreens and woody browns, and even though it was dark, he could see yellow ochre, bright crimson and the deepest orange he had ever seen, realizing then that it was fall. His stomach twisted in his gut and he wanted to vomit again but he knew nothing would come out, he knew that nothing good would come from trying.", "It went faster and faster as the driver kept his glare at the road and shifted into higher and higher gears, more gears, it seemed, than a bus ought to have. Hollis was spinning in his seat, his eyes going from the forest outside to the floor of the bus, to the driver, to the floor, to the road outside through the front window, to the forest again, in all its vivid colors and he still wanted to vomit, his whole body spinning on its cosmic axis, its own entity hurtling through space at speeds unknown.", "The bus stopped and Hollis got off as quickly as he could.", "The sun was close to rising. Hollis could see the distant pink on the eastern horizon. He looked around and he was back in the deserted nothing.", "Credit To – c", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Custodian	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-custodian/	6.79	March 10, 2013	301	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "A man named Marty Foster was walking. He wasn’t quite sure where to; hadn’t been for some time. He had found that it was shockingly easy to lose his way in a world that only spun in one direction. Sooner or later he always wound up lost, staring at his own back; nipping at his own heels.\nHe had discovered very few truths in his time, and he guarded them all jealously. He didn’t know why. They weren’t exactly the answers to cosmic mysteries; certainly nothing to write a book about. More like guidelines, a kind of virtual redoubt to fall back to when all else failed. One of them was: no matter where you are, you are there. This was comforting, and damning. One might say it was his cross as well as his crutch. Right then, he was in a city, a big one, with a big-sounding name that he either didn’t know or had forgotten. Another truth was: anywhere you are, there’s a thousand places you aren’t.", "There was a river through the middle of the city, a head-to-toe bisecting stripe of nature. Its form was strikingly fluid against the hard gray of the city’s steely flesh. Marty Foster walked along next to it, and his reflection rippled on the water’s surface, keeping pace with him. Stepping on his heels. He couldn’t outrun his shadow. Yet another truth.", "Reflected in the water also were the twinkling lights of a thousand billboards, crowning his watery self with a neon halo. The billboards loomed everywhere, bombarding their rapt flock with promises of salvation through discounted brain surgery, buy-one-get-one-free mammograms, instant wealth with such-and-such a program, call now, no obligation. They clamored for attention, a flock of gaudy, idiot children. Where are your parents, thought Marty Foster. You are orphans.", "He walked on, his tennis-shoed feet marching to the beat of some unheard drum. Now visible were the dirty backsides of the neon messiahs, the grit and grime and steel of their unseen half now seen by Marty Foster. He ignored them. Another truth: if it stinks bad enough, dogs will come to lie in it.\nHe looked out across the river and saw a man treading water in the middle. Charon had fallen out of his boat. Another truth: gravity only works in your favor when you’re sleeping.", "Marty Foster laid no claim to wisdom. Wisdom was for prophets and politicians. If someone were to ask him for advice, he would tell them to take a walk, and walk with their eyes open and their feet on the ground. It worked for him. He wouldn’t say he was a pilgrim either. Yes, he was walking, but he had no final destination, no promised land or heavenly kingdom, no long-dead hunk of space rock.", "Marty Foster had no god. He did not believe this made him evil. It was just a fact. No god had made himself known to Marty Foster, so he saw no reason to make himself known to god. He did not believe himself to be anybody’s son but his father’s. The most profound form of self aggrandizement, in his mind, was to say you were a child of a god. God had no children. If he had, they would have killed him and taken his power.", "Yes, he was walking, and yes, he’d stepped on his own heels more than once. But no, he was not searching for something. He was no prodigal son, he was no pilgrim, seeking to lick an unknown father’s boots. His only desire was to see. He had seen nothing, so he kept walking.", "He had met a woman once, with a tattoo on the back of her hand. It was a golden cog wreathed in ivy. It was beautiful. She was not. They had talked about god. She had said: “You know what I think?”\nNo, Marty had said, I don’t. She was wearing a loose black tank top, and he had his hand up it.\n“I think that if god were to just show up one day, on the street, in your church, anywhere, no one would recognize him. He’d be just another face, you know?”\nYeah, Marty had said. I know.\n“The only reason people like god so much is because they don’t know what he looks like. See, religion’s kinda like sex. Not everyone has it, but everyone talks about it, you know? No one’s ever seen god, but everyone talks about him. Some people even talk to him, if you can believe that.”\nNope, Marty had said. I don’t.\n“Damn straight you don’t. See, people don’t worship what they can see, they never have. Even the indians who believed in plants and rocks and birds and war, they couldn’t just sit back and enjoy it, you know? They had to go and push credit on something for it, something had to have made everything.”\nYeah, Marty had said. I know.\n“See, as long as there’s that image in the mind, that unattainable ideal, there’s gonna be a god, or some other poor bastard like him. See, when people move past that, they can see what it is they’re struggling for. When that happens, god becomes obsolete. People become their own gods.”\nMarty asked her what it was people were struggling for.\n“Ask god,” she said, and rolled over.\nYeah, Marty had said. Me neither.", "And now he was in the big, nameless city. Walking. Still walking. The sidewalk had veered away from the river, taking him deeper into the city. He found himself now in a business district, a neighborhood where twenty-first-century snake-oil salesmen plied their trade.", "Marty saw an electronics store with TVs in its display window. Some of them were on and showing the news. On one channel they were showing footage of a woman in a sari being stripped and beaten in a public square. On the screen, a man spat on her. Behind him people cheered. The window was barred. Marty didn’t know whether it was to keep people out or the news in. Above the TVs was a sign declaring loudly, “40% OFF!!!” It was hand-written on a hot pink piece of construction paper and held up with a length of scotch-tape.", "It was an amazing invention, television. It was life condensed to a palatable hash, all the good parts all the time. It was the highlight reel of the world. If you didn’t like what you were seeing, you could just turn it off and ignore it. It offered the experience of power without all the tricky decision-making that came with it. It was the closest man had come to godhood, allowing him to watch the world from afar while laying down judgment from on high.", "Marty Foster had met a guy once who said he was the king of the world. His subjects were elves that lived in a glass box in his living room. He controlled the elves’ world. You’re nothing, he would shriek at them. You’re puny, you’re ants. And then he would switch off the sun. Then would come the muttered apologies, the soft sobbing of unbearable guilt, and then the sun would come back, and the elves would dance.", "Marty Foster slowed his pace slightly as he became aware of footsteps behind him. He cast a glance back, and saw three men in medium cold-weather gear, hoods pulled over their faces. He took a left through an alleyway, trying not to betray his sudden urgency. He could see the city lights at the end of it, the children calling out to him. The footsteps behind him quickened, and then one of them was in front of him, blocking his way.", "Marty Foster stopped walking. “Excuse me, sir,” Thing One said. Things Two and Three came up behind him. He was trapped. Thing One’s breath came out from under the drawn hood in a gray cloud, and Marty thought of a ghost wearing clothes. “Might I have your attention for a moment?”\n“I don’t have any money,” Marty Foster said. He saw a flash of teeth under the hood as Thing One smiled.\n“Now, you expect me to believe that?” Thing One asked. “How am I supposed to trust you, a total stranger, on money matters? Do I look like I was born yesterday?” He moved closer. “Now take out your wallet. Slowly. There’s no need to rush; we have all the time in the world.” Another truth: Time is immortal, and he makes slaves of us all.\n“I don’t have a wallet,” Marty Foster said.\n“Well,” said Thing One, “They never do, do they. What a shame. To think, we could’ve been friends.” He raised his fist. Marty Foster closed his eyes.\nWhen he opened them, he was on his butt on the ground, cold soaked through his jeans and into his bones. His back was up against the decaying, once-red brick of the alley. His feet were cold. He looked down, and saw that they had taken his shoes. He hadn’t been lying when he said he had no money. Now at least they believed him.\nHe looked at his hands, saw they were covered in blood. His blood. He touched his face, and it felt like a bag of hot, wet sand. His nose leaked a drizzle of mucus and coagulating blood. He found that he didn’t particularly care. Another truth: the only wound that doesn’t heal is the one that kills you.", "They could take his shoes. They could take his blood. They could take whatever they wanted. Those things were secondary. He didn’t carry the things that mattered in his pocket. They floated, nebulous, a string of firing neurons in the galaxy of his mind. His truths were the only things that were really important, and no one could have them. That was how he had survived. He simply didn’t have anything that people wanted. If he did, it would’ve been taken from him long ago.", "He pulled his legs in toward his body, willing his blood into them. He stood up slowly, realizing that he was almost completely numb. He turned toward where the light had been coming from, and came face to face with a man in a long black overcoat, and a stovepipe hat. His breath steamed out and up, curling around the top of the hat, giving the impression that it was actually smoking. He had his hands deep in his pockets, and he was not looking at Marty Foster.", "The man in the stovepipe hat had his attention directed skyward, like he was trying to look into heaven. He had a small smile playing about his lips. He was tall, very tall, maybe six-six. And he was old, much older than Marty, probably seventy. He had a short, thick, old-testament beard colored the same gray as the city. He looked like a tall, white Buddha, with that expression on his face. He looked serene. His eyes were half closed. Beneath the lids Marty saw dark, dark irises, so brown they were almost black. They were old eyes, eyes that had seen many things. In them, Marty saw the rise and fall of men and empires.", "“I don’t have any money,” Marty Foster said, and wiped at the blood and snot leaking out of his broken face.\nThe man in the stovepipe hat did not look at him. He inhaled deeply, through his nose, and said, “Do you hear it?” His voice was rich, full, the voice of a king- or a god. As he spoke, his expression stayed the same. “It’s beautiful.”", "Marty Foster cocked an ear, listening- heard only his wheezy breathing. “No,” he said, “I don’t hear anything. You wouldn’t happen to have a tissue, would you?”", "With out lowering his gaze, the man in the stovepipe hat removed a hand from one of the deep pockets, and offered it to Marty. In the hand was a kerchief, clean and white, with a golden cog wreathed in ivy emblazoned in one corner. It was beautiful. He felt almost guilty wiping his filth on it, but the other man had not seemed to notice the mess that was his face.", "He mopped his swollen face, and looked up to find that the man in the stovepipe hat was staring at him. No, not at him, into him, through him, as though he could see the very thoughts in Marty’s bruised head. He had a moment of paranoid fear that the man was going to take his truths.\n“It’s beautiful,” he repeated. “It’s a shame you can’t hear it.”", "Marty’s face was beginning to hurt. His teeth felt loose. Another truth: pain stops, the world doesn’t. “Hear what?” he asked. He dabbed gingerly at his nose again, and went to crumple the now-soiled tissue and throw it away. But the man in the stovepipe hat held his hand out for it. Marty Foster placed the feculent rag in the open palm. The other man stuffed it back into his pocket. As it went in it left a trail of human sludge down the front of the jacket.", "“The music,” said the man in the stovepipe hat. “It’s the sound of harmony. What I hear, and what you don’t, is the tranquility of a machine in perfect synchronicity with itself. I hear the sound of a great drum, beating across the universe. What do you hear, Marty Foster?”", "Marty was not entirely surprised to hear his name from this patriarchal stranger. He wondered what else the man knew. “I don’t hear anything. Should I?”\nThe man in the stovepipe hat shrugged. “It is the lullaby that sang you to sleep in the womb. You have all heard it once. Whether you listened is up to you. Sometimes, you do hear it, ever so faintly. You know what it looks like when this happens. Those moments in crowded rooms where all the occupants grow quiet at the same time. They’re all hearing the music, and it gives them pause.”", "Marty Foster, the unflappable, was flapped. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why can’t I hear it?”", "The man in the stovepipe hat said, “You stopped listening. That is the problem. Listening is the hardest thing for you to do. You cling to your truths like a raft adrift on the open ocean, so afraid to look down, into the depths.” Marty Foster was shocked. This stranger had seen.\n“Mr. Foster,” said the man in the stovepipe hat, “How would you like to go for a walk?” That subtle smile was showing through more, white teeth crowned with pink gums. Marty wondered what he was king of. Another truth: there are two sharp teeth in the friendliest smiles.\nMarty looked down. His shoeless feet lay inert at the ends of his legs, dangling like fleshy pendulums. His wool socks were holey and wet. His toes showed through one. They were turning purple. He looked up. “Sure,” he said. “Where to?”", "The other man’s smile grew. Lots of teeth. “Why, to the control room, of course,” he said. He raised his arms up, as if delivering a sermon. “To see. And hear. That is what you want, is it not, Marty Foster?” He turned and began to walk out of the alley, toward the idiots.\nMarty regarded the man in the stovepipe hat. “First,” he said, “Tell me your name. You know mine, it’s only fair.”\nThe man in the stovepipe hat paused, and turned. “My name?” he said. He looked confused, as if he didn’t understand the request. Then his face resolved and he said, “You may call me Consilius, if you must.”", "Marty Foster nodded, and Consilius turned once again towards the mouth of the alley. Marty Foster and his dumb feet followed him into the light.\nThey made a strange pair as they walked along the street. To a passerby, they may have resembled a monarch and his jester: Marty Foster in his bloody, shoeless getup trailing beside and slightly behind a man whose name may or may not have been Consilius.", "“So,” Marty Foster said, “Who are you? Are you supposed to be god or something?” The man called Consilius laughed loudly. It sounded rough, painful almost.\n“No,” he said, “No, Mr. Foster, I am not god. God gave up a long time ago.”\n“I don’t believe in god,” said Marty Foster.\n“God doesn’t believe in you, either,” said Consilius.\nMarty Foster stayed silent for a time. The city spoke for him. It had many voices, each shriller than the last. They all said the same thing. Marty’s feet hurt. “I need shoes,” he said.\n“Not where we’re going, Mr. Foster,” Consilius said. “And besides, we’ve not got much further to go. I wouldn’t think you’d mind walking; after all, you’ve been walking for a long time, haven’t you, Mr. Foster?”\nMarty conceded the truth in this. “Fine,” he said. “You still haven’t answered my question, though. Who are you?”\nConsilius slowed slightly. He was considering. Then he sped back up, and said, “Patience, Mr. Foster. Please.”\nThis straw broke Marty’s aching back. “You know what?” he said, stopping. “No. I’m done with this. I mean, what am I doing here? I have no shoes, no money, I’m tailing a blissed-out psychopath who thinks he’s god’s nephew. This whole situation is fully and completely fucked.”\nConsilius stopped abruptly and spun around to face Marty. “Fine,” he said, “Goodbye, Mr. Foster. Just remember, it was you who agreed to follow me. I did not force you into anything. It was your, what do you call it, free will that led you to where you are standing right now. If you must know who I am, then know you shall. But not here, in the street, like animals.”", "He turned to go, and Marty Foster watched him depart. He had several seconds of doubt about many things. Where was this erudite stranger leading him, and what would happen if he followed? He wondered for one of those seconds whether he was dead and this gray city was some kind of new-age purgatory, maybe this Consilius was some gentlemanly reaper, come for a soul he did not believe he had. Marty wanted his secrets. Marty suddenly stopped doubting and jogged after the man in the stovepipe hat.", "From a distance, the city had the appearance of a great gray brow, crowned with skyscraper spikes jutting out above a circlet of fog and industrial soot. Somewhere above that crown was the sun, the red, unblinking eye of the universe whose light burned as well as succored.\nLong ago, in a land made of heat and dust, a man had given the sun a name, and in doing so, given it power. When the sun went away, people killed themselves to bring it back. The sun did not object. It always came back.", "Somewhere below that crown, two men were walking. One of them had a broken nose and no shoes. The other had secrets. His shoes were black leather. They shined like mirrors.\nThe man called Consilius and Marty Foster were walking now, side by side. The sidewalk had ended, and they now walked on gravel. Marty’s feet hurt. “Where are we going?” he asked.\n“The same place we’ve been going. Why so curious, Marty Foster? Don’t you trust me?”\nMarty looked at him and said, “No. Not at all.”\nConsilius smiled. “Wisdom is truth. Truth is perfection. Perfection is beauty. Therefore, wisdom is beautiful.”\nMarty said nothing. No, he did not trust this man whom he was following seemingly to the ends of the earth. Another truth: a turd painted gold was still a turd.", "They were now among a fleet of warehouses moored in a sea of gravel. Marty’s feet had stopped hurting. Consilius had slowed and appeared to be searching for something. Marty slowed too and watched the other search. After a time he stopped and stood in front of a door. Above it was stenciled a cog wreathed in ivy.", "Consilius turned slowly to Marty Foster. “Well,” he said, “Here we are. Home, sweet home.” That smile again, toothy and white.\n“You live in a warehouse?” Marty asked.\n“In a manner of speaking, yes, yes I do,” said Consilius. “All of creation is a warehouse; the storage bin of the cosmos. You live in it too, Mr. Foster.” He turned back toward the door and reached for the handle.\n“Wait,” said Marty. “What’s inside?”\nConsilius paused, and said, without turning, “Perfection, Mr. Foster. Perpetuity.”\nAnd with that, they went inside.\nFor a moment, as Marty crossed the threshold, he felt a yawning abyss open up below him. Then he was inside the door, and the gray light of the city’s dawn glinted dully somewhere far behind him. They were now in a small room. Against one wall was a bench, simple and wooden. Across from them was another door. Above the door was a sign that read MAINTENANCE in bold black lettering.\n“This is the antechamber,” Consilius said. “Are you ready for what lies on the other side, Mr. Foster?”\n“I don’t know,” Marty answered. He was being truthful. He was very quickly coming to the realization that he didn’t know much of anything at all.\n“Steel yourself,” Consilius said.", "And he opened the door.", "Inside the door was the most profound darkness Marty Foster had ever experienced. He could feel it weighing him down, a blanket woven from dark matter sheep’s wool; it was suffocating him. He flailed his arms wildly, panicking, scrambling for something to touch, something to tell him he was still planted on the ground. He was suddenly horrified that he was drifting away, a man-shaped balloon that some careless child had let go of to make room for something shinier, prettier.", "Behind him he heard a click, and the darkness burned away and Marty fell back to earth.", "They stood inside a gigantic clock. City-sized cogs turned, turned, turned, grinding into eternity. They stretched to the ends of time and space on all sides, an endless, gilded wasteland. The clockwork desert gleamed with an incredible light that shone from somewhere far, far above them. The sound Marty heard was an indescribably beautiful hum, a thousand low voices buzzing, buzzing. In that multilayered drone Marty heard the intermingled songs of life and death, destruction and creation, damnation and salvation. They shook Marty’s bones, dissolving him and dropping him to his knees. The siren song of the god-machine resonated to the very core of his being. His heart stopped and started again, beating now to the rhythmic pounding of a great unheard drum. A man named Marty Foster was shattered, broken, reforged, rebuilt, human scrap metal.", "He wept silently, tears running in unnoticed tracks down his face. Beside him Consilius was saying: “You wanted to know who I am. Still do, I think. Listen, then: this is the exquisite machinery of existence, the engine of creation. Vita ex machina; life from the machine. Do you have any concept of what this means, Marty Foster?”\nMarty shook his head slowly. His feet had stopped hurting again. He was numb.\n“This is perfection on a cosmic scale. Every facet of this machine was built with one specific purpose: to spin for eternity, in perfect cohesion with every other piece. If one piece falls out of sync, everything ends. And that is why I am here. That is who I am. I am what god left behind; a custodian, groundskeeper for the most valuable property in existence.\n“Now tell me, Marty Foster, do you hear it? The music?” Consilius looked down at the broken man next to him. Marty nodded.\n“Yes,” he hissed, “Yes, I do, I hear it. It’s beautiful.”\nConsilius closed his eyes, and said quietly, “Isn’t it just…” The two men stood in silence, letting the music wash over them. It was like standing in the shallows at the beach, when the sun was high in the sky and the water was warm all the way down to your toes and the waves swelled up and over you. Marty hadn’t been to the beach for a very long time. He hadn’t liked it when he had. It was too big, too deep, and he couldn’t see. Who knew what was down there, hidden in all that blue. Not him. Not anyone, at least no one he knew.", "What Marty Foster was feeling now was what hypothermia was supposed to feel like, after you had lost feeling and your brain knew it was dying so it made you feel warm and good, not like freezing at all. Marty Foster was content, at least for the time being.\n“Would you like to stand up now, Mr. Foster?” Consilius asked, and Marty nodded. Consilius held out his hand, and Marty grasped it, and Consilius pulled him to his feet. His ascension.\nHe stood, wavering slightly, awash in the golden light that came from everywhere at once. There was a gentle breeze blowing, some stale, artificial wind that cooled his puffy face. Consilius was watching him.\n“I have questions,” Marty said. He realized now that they stood on a balcony overlooking the mechanisms that moved, moved, moved, in total ignorance of the awe they inspired. On one side was a rusted maintenance ladder, the kind you see on the sides of apartment complexes. The top was covered in an iron-barred enclosure that looked like a birdcage.", "He looked over the edge, and immediately regretted it; there was a thin, spectral mist floating very far down at the bottom. If there was a bottom. The mist concealed the machines’ roots from view, lending to them a strangely celestial quality so that they appeared to be floating in space, gleaming, cylindrical planets.", "“I have no doubt of that,” Consilius said, turning his gaze to the landscape before them. “I’m not sure how many of them I can answer. But I shall try.”\n“I guess that’s good enough.” Marty looked down at his hands. They were raw looking, cuts of cheap pork that some lazy inventor had mashed on with paperclips and hot glue. “First,” he said, “Why me?”", "Consilius turned those eyes on him again as he considered. “That’s a fair question,” he said. “At least, in your mind it is. It’s amusing to me; you spend your whole lives trumpeting your own uniqueness, obsessing over what makes you special, and then you end up here, and you ask, “Why me?” as if I can tell you. How the hell should I know? Do you think there’s a plan? Some great ledger in the sky with all the events that have shaped your world over the millennia just written out, like a lunch menu? I just work here. When it all comes down to roles, I’m still just a janitor. I clean up other peoples’ messes. You wish to know why things are the way they are? Read a bible. Read a coyote story. Ask the ancient Egyptians about how Osiris masturbated the world into existence. Things happen because other things happen first. Cause and effect, Mr. Foster, cause and effect.”\nMarty was silenced again; he was becoming used to this by now. After a few moments he asked, “Well, if there’s no plan, then why is this here? This… machine?”\nConsilius said, “This machine is here because it needs to be. If it weren’t, you could be damn sure you wouldn’t be either. I told you, this is the engine. Life is its fuel.”\n“And what about you?” asked Marty Foster. “Would you be here?”\nConsilius blinked slowly. “I do not know. Maybe, and maybe not.”\nMarty grimaced. “I’m getting sick of maybes,” he said.\n“Well, that’s too bad, because they’re all I can offer you,” Consilius said. “I’m getting old, Mr. Foster. I have a long memory, but some of it is beyond my grasp. I don’t remember how it all started. I don’t remember why. All I can give you is this, and it is only speculation: you exist because the machine exists. Cause and effect. At the beginning, there was this machine, this clock, and when the cogs began to turn, something was needed to grease the wheels. Life came about so it could die and fuel the fires of existence.”\nMarty listened to Consilius’ words, and imagined a great coal scuttle filled with the wasted corpses of billions of years’ worth of organisms; the great intermingled with the small, men holding hands with rats.\n“That’s bleak,” Marty said tiredly.\n“No, it isn’t,” said Consilius. “It’s beautiful. The perfect system. Everyone ends up a martyr, no matter how they die, because they’ve served their purpose to the machine, and in so doing, made way for the next generation.”\n“So you’re saying that the only reason life exists is so it can die,” said Marty Foster.\n“Am I saying that?” said Consilius. “I am. But I am not saying it’s true, am I?”\n“Not outright,” Marty said. “But you’re suggesting it pretty strongly.”\n“Would it be so bad if it were true, Mr. Foster?” Consilius asked innocently. “If it were, everyone would have a purpose. Death would not be in vain. Just… what if, Mr. Foster? What if?”\n“Yeah,” Marty said. “What if.” He looked back out across the living mechaniscape unfolding before him. “I want to know why you brought me here, and not some other poor jackass.”", "Consilius laughed again, that same choking hack that seemed so out of place coming out of a man like him. Maybe it was asbestos. He said, “I brought you here because I saw you first. I saw those men beating you, and I didn’t stop them because it was a cause. I didn’t know whether the effect would be your death or not. So I waited. And listened. And now you’re here. That was the effect. It just so happened that you were also a pilgrim. Oh, I know, you tell yourself you’re not searching for anything, but here you seem to have found something anyways. Poor you. As to whether this is punishment, well, that’s up to you. Do you feel punished, or rewarded?”\nMarty thought for a moment. “I don’t know what I feel,” he said.\nConsilius winked at him. “I think you’re beginning to understand, my friend.”\n“I suppose I should feel enlightened or something, right? I don’t feel enlightened,” Marty said.\n“I am not a purveyor of enlightenment, Mr. Foster. I leave that to monks.”\n“Then what was the purpose of bringing me here?” Marty asked.\nConsilius shrugged. “Boredom, I guess. Restlessness. It’s a shame you only have room for seven wonders in your world. There is so much more than that.”\nMarty was angry now. “You’re telling me that you gave me the secrets of existence because you were bored? Because you wanted to shake things up a little?”\n“I told you it was all speculation on my part. For all intents and purposes I’m little more than a mechanic lifting the hood on an automobile. I haven’t really told you anything, let alone the secrets of the universe. No one knows them, that’s why they’re secrets.”\nMarty felt betrayed; this took him by surprise. “You don’t know anything then.”\nConsilius gave him a look. “Are you disappointed, Mr. Foster?”\n“Yeah,” Marty said. “I guess you could say that.”\n“Well, don’t blame me,” Consilius said. “I never promised you anything. Remember, you came here of your own accord.”\n“If you’ll follow me, Mr. Foster,” Consilius said, and turned toward the door. Marty followed him. Consilius led him back out of the warehouse, through the little white mud room. Then they were outside.\n“So, what now?” Marty Foster asked. “Do I just… Move on?”\n“Yes,” said Consilius.\n“How?” asked Marty.\n“That is up to you,” Consilius said. And closed the door in Marty’s face.", "Marty pounded his fists uselessly against the door. You can’t do this to me, he said. You can’t, you bastard. You can’t. What is left for me to do, he screamed. His hands hurt. How can I live with this. He slumped against the door. He was defeated. Then the door fell open behind him and he was back in the warehouse. It was empty. He smelled dust and desiccated rat feces, could see piles of dirt scattered across the floor, a bed made of cardboard shoehorned into a gap between one wall and a lone shelf. Empty. Barren.", "Another truth: sleeping dogs only lie when you let them.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Never Trust the Quiet Ones	https://www.creepypasta.com/never-trust-the-quiet-ones/	5.64	March 9, 2013	301	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I finally understand! See, silence is key. It’s tranquil. Noiseless. Golden. That’s the true beauty of it; at its very essence, its very core. It can mean nothing at all, or absolutely everything. Why didn’t I see it before? WHY?! …Or should I say who?", "I remember tossing and turning deep in sleep when I abruptly sat up, heart pounding. Naively I was quick to shrug it off as the latest in a string of nightmares. Little did I know mine were as lambs, sweet and innocent, compared to the monster waiting so patiently, so still, in the unnatural abyss I found myself in; the same that even at this moment threatens to swallow me whole. Lambs…and I the neglectful warden, turning a blind eye as they waltzed past one by one, straight into the slaughter house to be silenced. For good. And this was just the beginning.", "When I lay back down I didn’t realize it at first, but I was not in bed. How terribly I long for it; for the ground was covered in smoothed concrete, cold and unforgiving. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light, which gave me no consolation, since the shadows were thick as fog and appeared to go on for miles around. I was alone, and uneasiness began to take over as I hesitated. Where was I? Did I manage to leap right out of one nightmare and into the next? During dreams of this assortment, this was about the time I would call out to see who would be unintentionally joining me in the accursed romp through my illusions. Unfortunately, this was like no other I had accidentally stumbled upon, and regretfully, I broke the only precedent that mattered in a place of this caliber: the golden rule.", "“Hello?” I recited out of nothing more than a bad habit, one of which I should have broken myself of long ago. My tone set in motion something beyond my sight, which began to slowly make its way towards me, sounding of glass being grated along with each step. A shadow moved into view swaying ever so slightly back and forth as it lumbered closer. A giant of a beast at least four feet from ground to shoulder, its pelt hung off its body as if a size too big and was covered in stark white fur, that held streaks of black that ran haphazardly across its surface. Huge ears sat atop the head and it had a muzzle to match, filled to the brim with teeth that looked out of place, as the canines jutted passed the jaw.", "My nervousness began to rise, I’ve never known such a blatant fear before; just thinking about that scourge sends chills down my spine. As the fiend approached I froze. What could I have done? Run and be hunted down? I really wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but there. For my alarm to go off and wake me up so I could hit the snooze button per usual; then finally get up to open the window and see what the day would bring, coffee cup in hand. I hated that alarm, but it was punctual. Never. Late. Not even once to pull me from the bad dreams. So where was that bothersome toll when I needed it most?\nThe brute came to a rest several feet away and something didn’t feel quite right; this creature had a foreboding air about it. My subconscious was screaming at me to get away, to do something, anything to move. Fight or flight, yet all I could do is recoil in terror. Towering above me it yawned, baring its teeth as if to show what the outcome of this encounter was to be. Then it slouched forward, eyes level with my own, and a striking pale blue gazed deep into my soul and I had to look away out of suspicion of what might become of me if I didn’t.", "“I was growing impatient,” someone retorted from behind me, though I dared not turn to see who it was. “Too much longer and I would have awoken you myself.” That voice, I pondered, I’ve heard it before, but where? While I was attempting to work this out their speech continued, “You are right to despair, but you are mistaken as to why you are right to do so. Not many have caught sight of this form and lived, but you human are an exception for the time being. Such a weak species.”", "The animal began to pull at its skin, “much like this abomination. Their leader, a king who refused to give up his kingdom. He chose to fight me rather than hand over his lot; so I acted accordingly and consumed them all, keeping his body as a trophy. Yet knowing this you haven’t cause to fret as their story came to an abrupt end the day I arrived. What you see before you is the husk of one who should have passed on over a millennia ago. Unconsciously trapped in a dark plague of the mind, the fallen king will continue to thrive in a state of permanent exile as long as I will it. Therefore, it is what you cannot see you should be afraid of.”", "I was endeavoring to rationalize what was occurring, albeit dismally trying to pass this all off as a simple nightmare. Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. I’ll wake up, I know it. Right? Right. But all the assurance in the world wasn’t enough to stop the tremors or make the entities disappear; everything was too real, and the severity of the situation seemed to grow with each fleeting second. Though that voice, for some forsaken reason or another, my current predicament wasn’t pressing as it should have been. I had just heard it, very recently. Even with the terror sitting close enough for me to reach out and grab if I so felt the need to; I still had the inclination to turn around and see who it was. Then…that’s when it hit me! My facial expression must have changed as well for the specter pulled me from my contemplation,", "“You wish to speak?” My vocal chords acted almost as if of their own accord as I somehow managed to squeak,\n“I-I know who you are.” And for the briefest instance, I know I saw that thing freeze up as if backed into a corner with no way out, however only for a second, before regaining composure and ultimately control over the situation.\n“You know this human? Interesting,” The voice was both aghast and amused at this turn of events as I felt a hand of my shoulder and they whispered in my ear. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal. Guess my name correctly, I will let you go. And you will never hear from me again. On the other hand, get it wrong,” the monstrosity snarled, snapping its jaws, “and you belong to me until time ceases to move. Of course you can choose not to humor me; if that is the case I can set you loose and we can see which one of us can outwit the other. I would never give up a chance for a game of cat and mouse. Today I am feeling a bit generous, so take your pick. But be wary: for each ounce of my benevolence, there lies a pound of malevolence; so I would not rest upon my laurels for too long if I were you.” A choice? More like heads you win tales I loose. Option number two sounded like a death sentence, but guess wrong and I would be no better off. I briefly mulled it over.\n“I’ll guess.” The beast lifted a massive paw into the air raising three digits as it did so,\n“Then three guesses. No more.” Alright, so his name? It was…\n“Frank? From-”\n“Strike one.” A claw lowered. Not Frank? I swore it was him. How about, yeah, that guy from down the street who was always up gardening at the crack of dawn. It had to be…\n“Rick?” Another curled over into its palm,\n“Third one is a charm they say.” Drat. I was never very good at putting a name to a face, let alone when I couldn’t see whose face it was. Dread washed over me as the reality sunk in that this was not going in my favor.\n“I don’t know!”\n“Giving up already? You have one more go. Just say something, the first that comes to mind.”\n“I can’t-”\n“NOW.” The behemoth became infuriated, letting out a head splitting discord unlike anything I had heard before as the hand on my shoulder tightened. Reluctantly I was quick to obey as I cracked,\n“J-Jacob?”\n“…Not quite. The voice dissipated, echoing all around as the presence behind me vanished. Then the monster began to shake, much like a mutt coming indoors during a downpour, though if only that were actually the case. Instead it gave the impression of diffusing its color. The pitch black bands started to spread, engulfing it from nose to tail as bits of white began to show through. Completing the transformation, the being now stared back at me with amber eyes, lips twisted, gnashing teeth exposed. Hunkering low to the ground it looked ready to devour me whole.\n“Wait a minute!” I shouted, sticking my arms in front of me as a last ditch attempt to somehow stop this before it had a chance to happen, “I just want to go home! Who are you?! What could I have done to deserve this?!” My plight must have struck the right cord as the aggression ceased; and the voice returned from the fog, speaking in a mocking tone,", "“It’s always the quiet ones isn’t it? You can’t ever tell what they’re thinking. Calm one minute and -BAM- they’re flying off the deep end the next. Sound familiar?” Footsteps filled the air and the once mysterious voice took shape as someone walked out from the darkness. “That was the only conversation I had this morning with a human. I was in the process of tracking down a most peculiar individual when I found myself being nudged abruptly in the arm.” Standing next to the savage he turned to face me as he patted it on the head, “and that same human then deigned to speak to me, inevitably forcing me to loose that of which I sought. Any idea who dared to commit such a heinous crime? Of course you do, I can sense as much; but do you really know who I am?”", "Indeed when he looked at me I remembered seeing his face before, if only I had known then what I do now; it was a matter of being at the wrong place at the worst time imaginable. I would give anything to change the past. I would have walked in a bit later than usual and missed that telecast. I would have chosen to get some more work done and skipped lunch. And I most definitely would not have struck up that conversation.", "I recall that morning was no different than any other before it: I yelled at my alarm, got out of bed, enjoyed my coffee, and drove to work, getting on the elevator for the fourteenth floor. See, just as you pass the thirteenth, you always hear the news; since the lobby was small, and the television was barely put out of the fire code violation kiddy corner to the elevator doors. The news broadcast every morning on the hour, every hour, and if you had even the briefest of thoughts to change the channel, you would get more than a few dirty looks which would follow you around until the work day ended. The secretaries were always eager to hear the newscasters tales of tragedy and triumph to see if there was any fodder for their daily gossip get-together over lunchtime.", "That day as I got off the elevator there were breaking up to the minute headlines rolling fresh off the press. A university professors ‘unique one of a kind look’ into the mind of a recently caught serial killer who was found walking around in broad daylight only a few towns over from ours. I never paid much attention to the details as I walked passed the outdated decor and upholstery on the way to my office; but every great once in awhile I tried to catch a bit, just enough to be able to join in when noon rolled around. Since I didn’t get out of my work area very often, it was my way of being seen and to not be known as anti-sociable.", "So on those days, the appointed hour was always upon me before I knew it; and I stole away a minute early to beat the usuals to the water cooler and look as if I had been anxiously awaiting their arrival. First the weather was discussed, be it too cold or too warm, then we moved on to politics, how so and so could stand to improve this or that; then once those were out of the way, the talk moved on to what everyone had been waiting for, the piece de resistance, front page material.", "And being next to the water cooler like that it wasn’t unusual for coworkers, CEOs, the general public, or even janitors to walk by. Most wouldn’t bat an eye our direction, but the occasional on looker would ask questions or there were those who would attempt to join in on the conversation as if they had been there the whole time. That’s where I went wrong, mistaking that thing for an average joe looking to waste precious work hours. I did nudge what I thought was someone in the arm that morning, in an attempt to get them in on the debate over the killer. All I had to show for it at the time was a glare and a ‘Do you know what you’ve done?! Move!’ As I apologized he left us standing there wondering what to make of it; though the group shrugged it off collectively, and we got right back into the news as if nothing had happened.", "Nothing had happened?! Those bitter, deceitful, agonizing words! Lies. All of them! I shun their existence! Curse he who first uttered their likeness! If only I could remove them from the pages of history. If only I…could…\nAgain I was pulled from my thoughts as I connected the dots,", "“Drawing a blank? I was thinking you might know the truth of this world, yet you are as the dirt and grit which I grind beneath my sole. Allow me to enlighten you before I leave your mind to slowly waste away into the deepest pit of oblivion. Soon the time will draw near when all shall cower before my likeness in its every form, for I am a disease, here to eradicate the weak and purge the degenerate. And as I am unending, this plane too will never glimpse the light; and while chaos and madness roam freely it will be plunged into an eternal darkness. This is where I must depart, for I have much to do before the nights end; however know you will see me again. When I have need of you, you will be called forth from this tomb to do as I behest. Also know the eyes and ears are quick to perceive what they discern as reality, you should rely more on your ability to reason. This human is a guise from a time farther on in the expanse of the continuum. So unless extenuating circumstances applied, it would be impossible for you to recognize him; since he was born long after what would have been your demise had you not crossed my path. As for my namesake, I have none. I cannot be seen, or heard; therefore I am as nothing. Take heed, learn what those long since gone failed to understand, it is what you can’t see you should be afraid of.”", "The fiend licked its lips, setting forward a paw, “Now, we need to preserve you and rid you of your subconscious, so hold still and it will be painless, I assure you.” This time I scrambled to my feet and shakily took off running as fast as my legs would carry me. Glancing back I heard both the being and its counterpart exert forth what can only be described as pure insanity, a combined laugh that sounded more monstrous than anything else; it hung in the air and made my ears ring, “I guess I get to have my fun after all.”", "I didn’t get far as what seemed to be miles of space wasn’t so. I quickly found myself against a wall; and following it, a corner where I stopped to listen for the predator lurking in the void; except there was nothing but my own irregular breathing. Defenseless as a newborn, I crouched with my back to the wall as my imagination began playing tricks on me. Hearing little noises from every which way I momentarily closed my eyes for a quick reprieve to gather my thoughts; when the feeling rushed over me instantaneously. The tremors returned as the chill down my spine told me what had taken place in that brief second. Preceding to open my eyes the horror was inches from my face, blood lust written all over its features; and this time it spoke of its own accord.\n“No matter where you run, I will catch you. Hope, dreams, the light, none can hide from the truth. Here is where your tragedy ends, and life begins anew.” It opened its mouth wide and let out a deafening noise as it raised a paw and swung with all its might. I braced for the worst, however, it never happened. Neither the monster or his doppelganger were to be found.", "But just as it said, here I’ve been. Hidden away from the world in its entirety. Its life, its people, its trees, its animals, food, sounds, warmth, rain, news, jobs, coffee, beds, its…everything. The simplicity of daily occurrences, like being able to call someone, or driving through the park on the way home, or to go to a movie theater and berate the popcorn, or even getting the chance to threaten that blasted alarm clock. I miss it all. Here there is nothing but darkness. An eight foot ceiling to a fifty by fifty foot enclosure, completely covered in smoothed concrete. It’s cold.\nAt first it was pretty lonely. That hasn’t changed much, though I find myself talking aloud every now and then to make it feel like I’m not the only one. But not too often, otherwise I feel my sanity slipping away. And now I take refuge in my nightmares, which might sound a bit silly, but it helps remind me of how things like trains, or snow, look. Being secluded you tend to forget what they look like after you pass the forty year mark. Not to mention people. But why must they scream and run from the monsters which no longer frighten me? All I find myself doing is following the people around trying to start a conversation; then I am reminded how that put me here in the first place. …and unforgiving.", "I gave up long ago on finding a way out, for there isn’t one. However, it didn’t take long before I knew every crevice and speck inside and out. To begin with I never kept track of time, but I found a way, by keeping a mental note of the little bumps on the ground and walls. I’ll admit it took some time to make sure I was at this spot and not that one, but trial and error helped to get it right. A very good idea if I do say myself. How intuitive of me.", "So after guessing the amount of time before genius struck I would say I have been here, let me think, yeah, that sounds about right. Sixty years. Sixty years?! Some might say this is a long time, but I don’t appear to age at all. I’m no older today than I was when I was first brought to this condemned prison. I don’t eat or drink either. I breathe. And sleep, yes I do that too. I remain here and wait. Nothing more. Nothing, but listen to the depravity of this place. The emptiness. The silence.", "Wait…that’s the answer! I finally understand! See, silence is key. It’s tranquil; Noiseless. Golden. That’s the true beauty of it; at its very essence, its very core. It can mean nothing at all, or absolutely everything. Why didn’t I see it before? WHY?! …Or should I say who?", "Credit To – Rozka", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Fenter Woods	https://www.creepypasta.com/fenter-woods/	8.96	March 8, 2013	301	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I used to live in a small town called Fenter. It was a quiet place to grow up with one school, a doctors, a police station, a cinema (with films shown a month after the national release date), two restaurants and a host of local shops on the west side. Over on the east side of Fenter was the residential area with about forty houses, the town bar and the local woods, which were about twenty square miles in across.", "Even though I’d grown up my whole life playing in those woods it was still easy to get lost in them, so my father used to tell me and my friends to never go past the creek that ran through about a mile in. Still this gave us plenty of space to play in and we spent many summers building tree forts and playing hide and seek amongst the tall trees. One late summer evening me and my friend Jess were out near the creek seeing how close we could sneak up on the rabbits that inhabited the woods before they’d notice and run away. I’d spent about ten minutes searching for one and, in my eagerness; I’d left Jess behind. She’d stopped to examine some odd shaped rocks and being impatient I’d told her to catch up when she was finished. I was just reaching the hill where the creek bent and curved round to travel off north for another three miles when I spied one chewing on some leaves near an oak tree. I held my breath, grabbed my jacket to stop it flapping in the breeze and began slowly inching towards it. I was careful to avoid stepping on any twigs, if one snapped underfoot it was a definite game over and with the sun going down this would probably be the last chance I got to play before I had to go home for dinner. The rabbit was blissfully unaware of my presence; its brown coat tinged orange by the setting sun, ears flopped down like a hunters hat. The irony didn’t escape me as I crept up on it, silent as the leaves floating in the breeze. I smirked, I was about four meters away from it now and it still hadn’t noticed me, not my best but not bad. I slowed my pace even more; I didn’t want to make a rookie mistake in my excitement and ruin this opportunity. The rabbit finished on its leaf and casually began sniffing the next one before digging in. Two metres away now, the closest I’d ever gotten, I felt my heart beat in my chest and for a second I was scared the rabbit would hear it thudding against my rib cage and dart off. I shook my head and continued up behind it. It was almost within arms reach, I couldn’t believe it, I stretched out my arm, fingers extended. Wait till Jess heard about this, I’d be the first kid in town to have touched a forest rabbit. My hand was about a foot from brushing its soft pelt now, I could see each individual hair on it’s back. Thirty centimetres, I’d done it. I’D DONE IT! Suddenly an ear splitting scream pierced the air, shaking the silence of the woods in to shock and causing the resting birds to panic and scatter from the trees. I gasped and quick as a flash the rabbit was under the bush and gone forever. I cursed aloud and spat, frustration clouding my head. It was a good few seconds before I even stopped to think where the scream had come from. Then like a falling tree it hit me. JESS.", "I sprinted back up the creek as fast as I could. She’d been about two hundred yards back when I’d last seen her, near the old silver birches. It took me about two minutes to reach the spot, next to the weird pile of rocks. My brow was covered in sweat and my hair was messed up where the wind had whipped through it but all I could think of was finding Jess, even though I knew the woods were perfectly safe I cursed myself for having left her alone. I spun around in a circle; scanning for any sign of her but there was none.\n“JESS!” I yelled out, my voice travelling through the woods and echoing off the trees. It was getting darker and tall shadows were being cast all around me like a net.\n“JESS WHERE ARE YOU, CALL OUT TO ME, JESS!” I stood and listened but there was no reply. I was just about to run further up the creek where the trail began to see if she had started to make her way home when I saw it. On the other side of the creek about fifty yards away it stood, tall as the lowest branches of the sycamore next to it about seven foot up. It was covered in black rags, ripped and torn across its thin, wiry body with a hood pulled tightly around its head, obscuring it’s features. Two white, pupil-less eyes stared at me from the shadowed recess and I spied the flash of teeth. Long slender arms with hook like fingers splaying off of stumped hands almost dragged against the floor by its sides. I suddenly noticed an over powering smell and wondered how I’d missed it, I’d smelt it before on the farms when the cattle were harvested in the slaughterhouses; it was the smell of death, thick and despairing. I almost choked but my mouth wouldn’t make a sound, I just kept staring at it, petrified, blood running cold through my veins. Even the birds had stopped yelling in protest and now there was nothing but silence, it and I; locked in a gaze that I would remember to the day I died. I don’t know how long I was standing like that, it felt like minutes but it was probably only a few seconds. Suddenly, it shifted its weight and hunched down. For a brief second I thought it was going to start running at me and I almost threw up, uncontrollable fear racking my body, but then I noticed it had stooped to collect something from the ground. I cried out silently… it was Jess; her limp body looking like a doll compared to it’s freakishly proportioned frame. Despite being thin and stick like it picked her up in one bony hand with ease, fingers clasped around her waist, teeth bared in a crooked, humourless smile. It opened up part of its shoal and pulled her close against it’s blackened torso, I caught glimpses of a rib cage and rotten flesh. I reached out my arm, as if somehow I could pull her back to me but it was too late, it had turned and started to stride off deeper in to the forest. Even if I had known that area of the woods and had the strength to move my legs I would have never been able to catch up to it and, before I even knew it, it had disappeared from sight, like it had never been there at all. Only the heavy smell of decay was left lingering in the air, the only evidence that I hadn’t just imagined the whole thing. I snapped my head round and began to run back towards town, it was a good miles distance and I’d never run that far before, but that day I ran and ran and didn’t stop, jumping over fallen logs and ducking branches, I dared not look back.", "The darkness was almost complete by the time I burst from the undergrowth and in to the town’s edge. I sprinted to the bar and threw myself in to the door, practically collapsing on to the floor. I don’t really remember much after that but from what I was told later on it took them about ten minutes to stop me from screaming about a demon I’d seen in the woods and that we had to find Jess. By the time they’d actually gotten the story out of me and organised a search party two hours had passed. Jess’ dad shook me and shouted at me, asked me what happened to his baby girl. I could only stare dumbfounded and mute until my own father dragged him off and told him to get a grip. The sheriff organised the towns’ folk in to two groups and they each took a section of the woods. I tried to tell them that they all needed to bring their guns, that the thing had to be killed; the thought of going up against such a nightmare un-armed was too much, I begged my father to stay but he told me to calm down, that I was talking nonsense and was probably just in shock, my mind making up stories to deal with what had happened. He sent me home to rest under the watchful eye of my mother as he lead one of the groups in to the woods.", "Three hours passed.", "I was laying in bed still unable to sleep, huddled in my blankets, paranoid of every shadow and creak, convinced that IT, the nightmare, was going to come back for me, the only witness to it’s abomination, when I heard the front door open and the heavy steps of men entering the living room down stairs. I listened as they sat down and began to talk.\n“Damndest thing I’ve ever seen in my life Jerry, I don’t know what’s out there but it sure riled up the dogs”, that was the sheriff speaking.\n“What was it, a bear do you think sheriff?” I didn’t know the speaker but he sounded young, maybe one of the farm hands.\n“Maybe… all I know is two of my best tracker hounds caught a scent, started going mad, they tore off in to the woods faster then I’ve ever seen them run, and they didn’t come back, now we’re two dogs and a little girl down, Jesus H”\nThen the voice of my dad, I eased up a little, knowing he was back in the house made me feel safer,\n“Chris said he found the poor girls gloves down by the creek, right where my boy said they were playing”.\nThe unknown voice came again, obviously Chris, “It’s true, they were covered in some kind of slime or something, don’t know what but it smelt god awful, one of the boys almost upped his liquor”.\n“Okay, well at least we know she was there, I’m not hoping for much but I’ll pray, it’s one big forest and the chances o’ finding her are mighty slim”, the sheriff sighed, “I suppose I better go tell the family that they should be prepared for the possibility that they will never see Jess again, fuck, no man should have to outlive his kid, and the not knowing like this…”\n“Didn’t Travis say he saw something big moving through the forest?”, another unknown voice, this one new.\n“Yeah, he radioed in; said he saw some kind of, shit, I don’t know, giant moving in the distance, but the man was half pissed and it’s dark as the bottom of a well out there, probably just jumping at shadows, no most likely a bear or… a wolf or, something, jumped her from behind and dragged her off”, the sheriff again.\nMy father spoke, voice raised so everyone could hear, “Okay, lets all go home it’s been a tough night, we’ll search again for her tomorrow, even if it’s only a body we find, it’s better then the poor folks not knowing what happened, I want everyone to tell their kids not to go in that forest no more till we know for certain what occurred, understood?”\nThere were mumbles of agreement and then solemn goodbyes. The men left and the front door locked shut behind them. My father moved about downstairs for a few minutes before climbing the stairs and going to bed. Before he turned in he poked his head in to my room to check I was okay. I just pretended to be asleep, I had nothing to say, I didn’t even know what to tell myself, but one thing I knew for certain, I hadn’t been hallucinating, I’d really seen… IT, and whatever IT was it had Jess. I waited for a half hour after I heard my dad climb in to his bed before I sat up and switched my bedside light on. I crept out of my bed and got dressed as quietly as I could then I descended the stairs. My father had taught me how to shoot and maintain a gun a few years back, out here in the country it was important to know; hunting was a tradition amongst the men and when I was old enough my father would take me camping in the woods for a weekend of game shooting like his father before him. I knew where my dad kept his 44.Magnum and rounds in the garage and after searching around for a few minutes I found the key for the lockbox. I opened it up, loaded the pistol and grabbed a flashlight before leaving the house and locking the door behind me. My breath misted in the air as the unseasonably cold chill hung around me. I looked at the forest, once a place of fun and laughter now dark and sinister in the moonlight, branches stretching and contorting towards the sky like skeletal fingers. That thing had Jess and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do a damn thing to get her back, after all it was my fault for leaving her alone out there. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and began tenaciously walking down the road towards the woods.\n“Don’t worry Jess”, I thought, “I’m coming”.", "As I entered the woods I immediately began to question my actions, I knew that what I was doing was not smart by any stretch of the imagination, that my fool hardiness could very well get me killed. The thought of bumping in to the creature, out here, alone in the dark was more terrifying then anything I could ever imagine. And knowing that Jess was in that very situation herself was the only thing that drove me on. I trudged on the familiar old trail for about twenty minutes or so until I eventually came to the creek. I had never been here before in the dark and although everything was where it should be, it looked different. It was as if these were my woods to play in during the day, but now in the dark, it was an alien place, this was IT’s domain. I was a stranger here, unwelcome. This feeling was reinforced by the fact I had no idea what lay beyond the creek, except from what I’d seen in the immediate area from the other side. Carefully, I crossed the creek, the water soaking through my boots and dampening my trouser legs.", "As soon as I stepped out on to the other side I felt like I was lost. How would I find my way back? Which direction would I go in? I ignored the first question; I had bigger things to worry about at the moment, and decided to head off in the direction I’d last seen the creature going. I started walking, vigilant for any signs of movement or noise. I’d expected there to be animals out this late at night but eerily it was silent, which made me feel vulnerable. Every footstep sounded like an alarm, telling the creature where I was. I stopped for a moment and looked around with my flashlight. I felt like the darkness was swallowing me; that the thing sat just outside the borders of light, laughing at my efforts to find it. I realised that if there was anything out there, the light would only serve to give away my position, effectively ending any kind of advantage I would have over it. After a pause I switched off the flashlight and waited for my eyes to adjust. It was difficult at first but after a few minutes I could make out enough of the forest to start slowly making my way through. It was about ten minutes later when I heard it. A short sharp yelp to my left in the distance. I paused and waited to see if any other noise was made. A moment later a snap echoed through the darkness and a dull thump. I was not alone anymore. Swallowing fear I sunk to my haunches and slowly made my way towards the noise. I had plenty of experience at being quiet from the rabbit game and even in the dark I didn’t find it too hard to distribute weight so as to move almost silently.", "After a while I reached a clearing where the trees parted to a grassy patch about half the size of a football field. In the centre of the clearing was a rocky depression that sunk down in to the earth. I was about to make my way over and investigate when I saw it. It was standing near the edge of the clearing to the south and was slowly limping its way over to the depression, dragging something behind it. In the dark I couldn’t make out what it was but it was about the size of a child, except if the child had been snapped in the middle, it flapped limply with every bounce like a paper fan. I swallowed a lump and tears stung my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was more scared or sad. I prayed to God to not let it be Jess and continued to watch it as it reached the pit and then hurled the object over the rim. It hit the ground with the unmistakable sound of crunching bone. The creature bent down headfirst as if to crawl down the rocks and then stopped. Slowly it stood back up and sniffed. I instinctively pressed my back to a tree, removing myself from view and strained to listen. I heard it sniff again softly and walk around in what sounded like a small circle and then… nothing. I waited. For what seemed like eternity I waited. I was unbearably tense, expecting to see it’s milky eyes slowly peer round the side of the tree followed by that big crooked smile at any second, or a long hooked finger to slide out of the darkness and rest itself on my shoulder. Nothing happened though, and nothing continued to happen for the next couple of minutes. Gathering my courage I hesitantly glanced round the trunk only to see the clearing was empty. I double, triple and quadruple checked the area making deadly sure it was gone and then I stepped out back to the clearing edge, making sure to keep low to the ground. To step out in to the clearing was out of the question, suicidal. What if it was only hiding at the clearing edge itself, or waiting in the rocky fissure at the centre. It would defy all logic, rebel against every survival instinct – and yet I had to know. I had come here looking for Jess, if I turned back now with out checking to see if it was her, crumpled and contorted at the bottom of those rocks then I may never know. The sheriff was right; the not knowing was the worst part. Before I stepped out I pulled the magnum from out of my waistband and cocked the hammer back, being careful to mute the click by smothering it between my legs. When it was loaded and ready to fire, I began to slowly inch my way out of the safety of the tree line and in to the open. I took a few steps and stopped, waiting to see if anything came crashing towards me. When nothing did I continued my cautious journey to the depression.", "When I reached the lip I aimed the gun ahead of me and looked over. It was a couple of feet deep, about ten or so and was a little larger then I had expected. One side of the hole was hollow and extended in to the ground as a sort of cave, large enough to drive a car through. At the mouth of the cave was the body, slumped over a jagged rock. I glanced around again making sure I wasn’t being snuck up on then started to lower myself down. I would just need a quick glance to make sure it wasn’t – or was – Jess and then I’d leave, run back to Fenter. I’d wake my dad and the others, lead them here and we’d kill it, in this cave that was surely it’s dwelling. It could be in there right now, watching me struggle down the smooth rock. But I reasoned that if it was in the cave then there was noting I could do about it. I must be crazy; fear has consumed my brain so completely I must not be able to feel anything anymore I thought. This was proven wrong when I slipped and fell off the side of the rock, landing awkwardly and sending pain shooting through my ankle. I almost cursed aloud but bit down on my lip and shouted silently in my head. Luckily it wasn’t twisted, just achy and I was able to walk on it without a problem, the last thing I needed now was a broken foot. My thoughts were so preoccupied with the sudden pain that I had forgotten I was now right next to the cadaver. My leg bumped against it and I spun round gun at the ready, almost firing it off in to the rocks. I quickly berated myself for being so trigger itchy and then looked down. Relief and repulsion flooded through me. From this close I could see it wasn’t Jess, wasn’t even human, instead I realised it was a large dog, one of the sheriffs hounds that had gone missing earlier. It’s back was snapped in two and folded upon itself and its snout was crumpled back in to its face turning it in to a flat, tooth filled gap. Blood, fur, bone and brain where splattered over it and one eye hung loosely from the socket. The eye was positioned in such a way that it appeared to be staring right at me. I looked away and felt bile rising in my throat. The smell of death and decay was overpowering this close to the cave and I dreaded to think what other corpses were nestled away inside. I was about to begin scrambling back up the edge of the depression when I heard a sob. I spun round and stared in to the darkness of the cave. It sounded faint, as if it had come from quite a way away, echoing through narrow rock passages until eventually finding its way to the surface. It came again, this time it was unmistakable. It was the sound of a child crying. The first thoughts to rush through my head were of joy, she was alive, it must be Jess, hidden away deep in this creatures lair, and as soon as the thought had come I realised, with a fear unlike any I had ever thought possible to feel, that I would have to go in to the cave and get her. I didn’t have a choice, I just couldn’t turn back now, I may as well kill myself with the gun I held in my shaking hand then live with the guilt. I pulled out the flashlight and, readying the gun, switched it on. The beam stung my eyes for few seconds as they adjusted to the sudden light but I could see the cave went on for a few metres before widening in to a kind of large, rocky chamber that had passages of varying sizes detouring off further underground. I entered the mouth of the cave and shone the beam over the walls and floor. The beam danced over bones scattered across the ground. It looked as if every type of animal in the forest had eventually wound up in here, torn apart then stripped of flesh. I covered my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my gun hand and continued to walk. There were four passages and the sobbing appeared to be coming from the one furthest to the left, thankfully it was one of the wider ones and I found I could comfortably walk down and still have enough room to stand up straight. If the creature were to come now from the mouth of the cave I would be trapped. However if it was already in the cave then I was walking straight in to its spindly, disproportionate arms. I swallowed hard and continued to walk, after a couple of meters it turned right sharply and opened up in to a small version of the chamber I had just come from, I was amazed to find it was full of items. Watches, Jewellery, Passports, Letters, Glasses, Clothes, Books, Wallets; it went on, as if a museum to sentimentality and trinkets. I picked one of the passports and opened it up. Paul Ashcroft, born 1972 Herronford, Ohio. Another read Richard Blunt, born 1954 Westville, California. I shone the light over the letters, seeing the addresses were to places all over the country. Then it dawned on me. I finally understood. It all made sense, the reason I had never seen this thing in the woods before was because it had only arrived a short time back. It must of travelled from place to place, from forest to national park to desert to mountain, picking people off, taking their effects then moving on to the next town. It was like a sick scavenger hunt. IT was killing people and then keeping their items as souvenirs. Another sob brought me back to reality and I dropped the passport to the ground. I hurriedly walked to the back of the chamber I now called the museum and found another short passage and then a medium sized cavern, inside was Jess sitting on the floor and crying. She looked up when my light shone over her and covered her eyes.\n“Please… P-please let me g-g-g-“ She burst out in to fresh sobs, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.\nI stood paralysed for a second. I was so intent on finding her that now I had I didn’t know quite what to do. I decided I had best let her know it was me before deciding on anything. I shone the light upwards illuminating my face. Jess stopped sobbing and stared.\n“ Jess I’ve come to rescue you, we don’t have much time. We need to go now before that thing comes back to find me here” I whispered kneeling besides her. She did nothing for a few moments then threw her arms around me, her body shaking.\n“I thought I was going to die down here, I thought it was going to eat me, like it did the rest, I just- I don’t- it’s…” she trailed off unable to get her words out through the tears. I squeezed her back for a moment, and then went to lift her. The sound of metal clanging against rock reverberated through the cave. I shone the light down and my heart sunk. She was chained to a heavy metal ring pin that had been nailed deep in to the rocks beside her.\n“I couldn’t escape” she sniffed, “I tried to pull it out but, it’s no use”. I stood for a second, defeat washing over me.\n“I could go get help come back and-“\n“NO” she squeaked, “Please don’t leave me here”. Panic spread across her face and it was all I could do to promise not to leave. I thought for a few moments and then realising my only option I took her chin and looked her in the eye.\n“Jess, I have a gun, I’m going to have to shoot the chain to set you free, it’s going to be very loud and the noise will probably attract the thing here”, she said nothing just looked at me, ”as soon as it’s broken we’re going to have to run for the cave entrance and back through the woods”. She looked thoughtful for a moment herself and then took my chin, kissed me and then nodded.\nI blushed, sitting below ground in a monsters cave and I was blushing. I almost laughed. I forced the emotion down and just smiled before taking my gun and aiming it at the chain.\n“Cover your eye’s, I’ll do it on three okay? One, tw-“, a guttural moan sounded from the mouth of the cave and carried its way to us. I saw the colour drain from Jess’ face and I knew mine was doing the same. It was back. Without thinking I pulled the trigger. The gun cracked, deafening in such a small space and the chain shattered, I grabbed Jess before she could react and pulled her up, sprinting towards the museum. As we entered in to it I dived behind a table full of brick-a-brack pulling her down with me. No sooner had we landed on the floor I saw the creature enter in to the room and scramble over to the passage we had just exited from. As soon as it was gone from sight I pulled her back up and pushed her towards the passage that led to the cave mouth. She didn’t need to be told twice and we ran as fast as our legs could carry us. As the cave mouth came in to view a scream, full of horror and anger, rang from behind us as IT discovered its meal had been stolen. As we got to the cave mouth I could hear wood splintering and the tinkle of a dozens of tiny objects hitting stone as it tore through the museum after us. I grabbed Jess’s foot and hoisted her up till she grabbed the lip of the depression and pulled herself in to the clearing. I spun around and saw IT exit the passage in to the main chamber. Its hood had fallen down and exposed what can only be described as a half insect, half human face. I fired a shot off in it’s direction and it screeched in agony as the .44 bullet connected with it’s thigh, knocking it back for a second. I took the distraction and spun around, leaping for the edge of the depression and grabbing a hold. Jess seized me by the collar and helped pull me up just as I felt hooked fingers brush the bottom of my shoe. We started to run across the clearing. The sun was coming up now and the sky was a pinky-red, casting a slight glow on everything. We ran and ran and ran and ran. The whole while I could hear it crashing through the trees after us. If I hadn’t of hit it in the thigh I don’t think we would have stood a chance out running it, but somewhere, some God was watching over us.", "It was about forty-five minutes before we reached the creek and by the time we saw the edge of the woods an hour had passed. I still to this day do not know how we managed to run so fast and far without stopping, but I do remember the adrenaline coursing through me so violently that I shook for hours afterwards. When we reached Fenter I fired the gun off in to the air. Within two minutes dumbstruck towns people surrounded us, some asking what had happened, others grabbing and hugging Jess and most just staring blankly. When Jess’ father arrived he broke down and cried holding his girl to his chest and thanking God, and me, equally for his daughters safe return. When my father arrived he took the gun from me, put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a look. It was a look that said he didn’t care what happened just that he was glad I was safe. Regardless we had to explain to the sheriff what had happened. After we both explained our stories, a group was organised and armed and I was asked to lead my dad, the sheriff and twenty or so other men to the cave. I was tired and reluctant to go back but next to my dad I felt safe. After a couple of hours we came across the clearing and found the cave system just as we had described. The museum was empty. The shattered chain was found at the back untouched and a brief examination of the other caves revealed them to contain skeletons of other people later identified as other missing persons from the towns that backed off of Fenter woods. A medical check showed they had been dead for days. The woods were searched all day but nothing was turned up. That Night as I looked out my window before going to sleep I saw it again, standing at the edge of the woods. It looked at me through my window for a while and I stared back, like when we had first encountered one another and then it turned and walked back in to the woods. I knew this would be the last time I saw it, it was moving on to another place, away from Fenter, from this area. The woods were searched for another week but nothing was found. The official report stated people had been kidnapped and killed by a maniac who had escaped in to the wilderness before he could be apprehended although the people of Fenter never questioned our versions of the story.", "So that is my account. This all happened twelve years ago now and IT is but a distant memory. Jess has just finished university and is going on to become a lawyer for animal rights and I am working on the family farm after dropping out of college. I tell you this story not to entertain you but as a warning, next time you decide to go hiking in the mountains or camping in the woods. IT is still out there and next time, it might be your town IT decides to visit. Be safe.", "Credit To – Mr.Twelve", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Poisoned Oak — The Sacred Grove	https://www.creepypasta.com/poisoned-oak-the-sacred-grove/	8.24	March 7, 2013	301	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Related: Poisoned Oak", "Bassa was not unlike many of his neighbors in Glevum, a town in the Roman province of Britannia; men who were originally brought to this land by conquest, and who were now settling down to a new life as farmers. The town of Glevum had once been a Roman fort, but over time it had also become a “colonia” of retired legionnaires like Bassa. He was born to a poor farmer and his wife in Thrace. At the age of 17 he joined the Roman army and Romanized his name to Titus Flavius Bassus. He survived the mandatory 25 years of auxiliary service in the Legio II Augusta, and was proud of his service and of the fact that his legion had participated in the Roman conquest of Britain 26 years prior. He was also proud that the new Roman emperor Vespasian had been the legion’s commander at the time of conquest, and had led the campaign against the Durotriges and Dumnonii tribes.\nUpon his discharge Bassa had been granted Roman citizenship and enough land to set up a farm and support a family. For the last several years he had been building up a flock of sheep while also growing wheat. He sold wool and mutton as well as wheat in the market in Glevum and was beginning to feel that it was time to find a wife among the local Britons and start a family. During this time the Roman fort had been gradually expanding its footprint beyond its original stone walls with the erection of a wooden palisade. Life was good and getting better.\nThat was before he noticed that his flock of sheep seemed to be getting smaller.\nAt first he hoped he was imagining it. He had never learned his numbers so he couldn’t be sure if he was actually losing sheep. He wasn’t stupid, he just couldn’t count, so he hit upon the idea of putting a pebble in a clay jar to represent each of his sheep. In this way, it only took him a couple of days to figure out that he was in fact losing sheep. He couldn’t afford this loss of his flock and determined to find out who was stealing his sheep and put a stop to it.\nHe spoke to his neighbor—also a former legionnaire—to see if he was facing similar issues, and wasn’t surprised that he was also losing sheep. Bassa was relieved on some level, for it meant that his neighbor wasn’t the thief. The two of them decided they would combine their flocks at evening and together watch over them during the night, taking shifts sleeping. Nothing happened for the first two nights.\nThen came the third night.", "Cnaeus Pompeius Magnus’s day had started and finished badly. He was the Praefectus Castrorum of the Roman fort at Glevum, meaning he was its commander, so trouble usually landed at his feet. Throughout the day he had nursed a terrible hangover from the night before and was counting the minutes until he could get back into bed. That should have happened hours ago, but now sleep was further delayed by the sudden appearance at the fort of the local Archdruid, Belenos. Cnaeus normally tried to keep his dealings with the druid priests to a minimum. He didn’t completely trust them, believing that they were behind the persistent efforts to sow dissent and rebellion among the native tribes. So when Belenos had shown up demanding to speak with him his initial thought was to simply have him sent away. Instead, he grabbed a cup of watered wine and strode into his office. Belenos and one of Cnaues’s senior commanders awaited him.\nNodding his head in greeting, Belenos got right to the purpose of his visit. “Praefect, have any of your men gone missing recently?” he asked. Belenos was dressed in typical druid priest fashion. He had an unbelted white outer cloak over a course grey woolen robe. His white hair and beard were long, but neatly combed. His left hand rested on a long staff, crowned with a silver cap. On his feet he wore yellow sandals. Once again, Cnaeus was struck by how well the druid spoke Latin.\n“We usually lose 1-2 legionnaires a month to desertion. What business is that of yours?” Cnaeus replied. Dressed typically for a Roman officer, he wore a tunic that was made of wool and dyed red. Across his chest was a belt called a baldric from which his sword hung. He wore a linen scarf around his neck which would prevent chafing when he put on his armor. And on his feet were sandal-like footwear made of leather. Lastly, he wore a cloak that was fastened at his shoulder. This was the clearest sign of his senior rank.\nThe office in which they met was in the older, stone built area of the fort. It was on the second floor and had a view overlooking the parade ground where some of his men could be seen practicing hand-to-hand combat. Lit by torches on this dark winter’s night, it was still an impressive sight whose meaning would not be lost on the old druid priest. A large wooden table served as a desk behind which sat a bench seat topped with a cushion. Cnaeus dropped heavily onto the seat. Belenos remained standing.\n“And has that changed recently?” Belenos asked.\nCnaeus nodded at the Centurion who then answered, “Over the last week we have lost 8 men”.\n“But that’s not all, is it?” Belenos replied giving Cnaeus a pointed look.\nCnaeus paused a beat before answering the question. Taking a deep breath he said, “The patrols sent out to bring back the deserters found parts of a couple of the men. It looked as if they had been gnawed on by an animal…” He let the words hang in the air, waiting to see how Belenos would react. Only he didn’t react at all. For reasons he couldn’t quite put a finger on, that greatly unnerved Cnaeus. He asked the Centurion to leave the room, and beckoned Belenos to sit.\nThey sat there facing each other, each in his own thoughts for several minutes. Finally Cnaeus spoke up. “You’re about to tell me this has something to do with the fact that we cut down your ‘sacred grove’ of oaks to build our palisade, aren’t you?” He thought about the large pile of oak logs, cut down the prior week, and now stacked outside the gates of the fort. The local Britons and the Druid priests had protested vehemently against the action. A couple of the locals had to be put to the sword before the work could be completed.\n“You think your wooden palisade protects you? You were better protected when the oak wood used to build it was still part of living trees in what you refer to as our sacred grove.” Belenos replied. “Now they are out, and the price in blood will be steep.”\nCnaeus thought again about the condition of the missing men when they were found. “Explain yourself, priest. What’s done is done, and there’s no putting the trees back in the ground!”\nBelenos looked thoughtful for a moment. It appeared to Cnaeus that he was torn as to whether or not to speak more about the situation. Finally it looked as if he had come to some kind of decision, and he began to speak.\n“It has long been told that many years before the time of the Romans this land was periodically set upon by savage beasts. They would show up without warning and rampage through the countryside for weeks. Entire villages—men, women and children—were devoured by the monsters. It was like a plague of locusts stripping a field of grain. And they were just like locusts except these monsters stripped the flesh from the bodies of their victims as they devoured them. The people started to refer to them as night stalkers, as that’s when they would attack. After a few weeks the creatures would suddenly die, but not without each leaving behind an egg-like object buried in a shallow hole.\nIt isn’t known when the druid priests first realized that their appearance was actually predictable and that the creatures crawled out of the ground every 25 years. Not so different from the cicadas that come every 17 years, other than the fact that these are man-sized and bloodthirsty. The druid priests back then tried digging up and destroying the eggs before they could hatch, but they were hard as a rock. Burning them did no good; neither did throwing them into a lake. They still hatched after 25 years.\nThe only solution was to be there when the night stalkers emerged and to try to kill them. But 25 years was a long time to remember exactly where each egg was buried. The priests realized that many of them wouldn’t even be alive 25 years later. So they came up the idea to plant an oak tree over each buried egg. This way, those in the future would know exactly where the next generation of night stalkers would be surfacing. And they would have the chance to kill them as they emerged before they could do any damage. Since the eggs tended to cluster in certain locations, so did the oak trees the priests planted. And this is what led to the creation of what you Romans now refer to as our sacred groves of oaks.\nBut 25 years later the priests made an extraordinary discovery. Wherever an oak tree had been planted over an egg, nothing came out of the ground. 25 years stretched to 26 years and still no night stalker. At first the priests hoped that simply planting an oak tree had somehow killed the things in the eggs before they could hatch. But then a lightning bolt struck and knocked down one of the marker oak trees. Within nights a stalker rose up from the ground and rampaged through the area. It was only then that the priests realized the oak trees were merely imprisoning the creatures. It was now clear they weren’t killing them.” ______________________________________________________________________", "Bassa awoke with a start. It had been his turn to sleep, and he judged from the position of the moon that he’d been asleep for longer than he should have been. He listened to the night wind softly ruffling the leaves, and sniffed the air. The fire next to him had gone out, and there was no sign of his neighbor. With as much stealth as he could muster, he climbed to his feet. In his hand he held his gladius, a short, stabbing sword that was the primary weapon of Roman foot soldiers. He could tell the sheep were nervous, but then again sheep were always acting nervous.\nHe scanned the flock for his neighbor, or some sign of him. A voice inside his head was telling him not to call out, not to make any unnecessary sound. He slowly made his way through the flock of sheep, nudging one out of the way with his knee when it didn’t move quickly enough. It was the smell that first alerted him to its presence. Bassa had been on a battlefield too many times to count, and the smell of dead and decaying bodies, while hideous, was something to which he had grown accustomed. Spilt intestines, blood, burnt flesh contributed to a stench that clung to your skin long after you left the field of battle. This smell was more overpowering and more terrible than anything in his experience. It was all he could do not to throw up on the spot.\nBassa looked in the direction from which the smell seemed to be wafting, and that’s when he saw it. He had seen many terrible things in battle, but this was beyond his comprehension. It was man-sized with a wide black body, beady red eyes, and two sets of membranous, transparent wings, the front wings being longer than the rear ones. The creature also had sharp claws on all four of its legs, a blunt head with protruding eyes, and an insect-like mouth full of razor sharp teeth. It was the stuff of nightmares, though Bassa quickly concluded he would probably never sleep again. Most horrifying of all was that its mouth was buried into the stomach of his still moving and moaning neighbor—it was literally eating him alive.\nWithout thinking, Bassa roared in rage and charged at the beast, his gladius held high over his head", "Belenos took a deep breath, before concluding his story. “An oak will reach a good height in 25 years, and we have come to believe it is the root structure and essence of a living oak tree that keeps the creatures imprisoned. The roots grow around the egg as the trees grow. Over time fewer night stalkers emerged in the 25 year cycles. Each time the eggs were marked by trees.\nEventually they stopped showing up entirely. We had trapped them all. Until now. The particular grove you cut last week was at least 150 years old. And it had exactly 21 oaks.”\nAs Cnaeus chewed on what he had just heard there was a knock on the door and the Centurion entered the office again. “Praefect, excuse me, but you need to come immediately.” he said in a shaky voice. Bidding Belenos to come, Cnaeus left to room and followed the Centurion down a flight of steps and onto the parade ground. There, in the middle of the darkened grounds stood what appeared to be a local Roman farmer. But what immediately drew Cnaeus’s attention was what he was holding up in his right hand. Even in the low light he could see it was the bleeding and battered head of the most horrible looking creature he had ever seen. He quickly realized what he was looking at. “This bastard ate my neighbor and my sheep, but it was no match for a Roman and his sword!” Bassa roared.\nCnaeus turned to Belenos and simply said “Now there are 20…”\nBefore Belanos could respond, there came from outside the stone walls a chorus of cries of terror and howls of pain accompanied by the sound of terrified horses and cattle….", "Credit To – LumaKing", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Six & Link to the End	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-six-link-to-the-end/	7.31	March 6, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "If you’re just staring to read my experiences with this horror, you should read my other stories first. You can find them here:", "Part 1", "Part 2", "Part 3", "Part 4", "Part 5", "Okay guys, a lot has happened since the last time I checked in. Lot of you messaged me asking if I was doing ok. Some of you even went as far as sending me you phone numbers and really reaching out. I thank you for that.", "We have not encountered Rose since the last time. Also, we decided to move. I got a decent job on the south of the US and we thought it’d be a good idea to get out of here (any Atl folks, holla at me). My father did go see the priest who baptized me and the story actually become more convoluted, if you can call it that.", "Anyways, I got baptized in a church called Ostrog, in Montenegro. Here is the pic of it. I don’t believe in god in any kind of way, but this church is amazing. It was built a long time ago. When the Turkish Empire came to take over, people took it stone by stone and moved it up in the mountain where the Turks couldn’t reach it. It is a magnificent building. Many people of different religions, including Muslims and Buddhists, come to that church in search of a spiritual help. That is the only place I ever felt something “more” than just my non-believer reality.", "", "So, when I was six, my dad decided to baptize me there. Neither of my parents are particularly religious, but my dad fallows traditions, and baptizing kids is one of them. He decided that baptism should be performed at the most famous church in Balkans, Ostrog. You had to schedule it, and demand was so high that I was going to do it with other kids as a part of a group baptism. When we arrived there, and disappointment awaited (at least for my dad, I couldn’t give any less fucks). At the entrance of the church, the priest stopped me.", "“You. You cant go in.” He physically stopped me with his hand. Priests in our country wear long black robes and rock long beards. So I was standing there being held by this batman looking dude. My dad jumped in front of me and asked what the problem was.", "“You my child (talking to my dad), I know you. I baptized you. I can tell. (He did baptize him 20 years ago or so). But your son, he can not go in here.”", "“And why is that?” My dad asked, shocked.", "“I cant really tell you, but it is better for us all if he went elsewhere.”", "“But why?”", "“Son, please, leave. But remember this, don’t dare not baptizing him. You have to.”", "“I don’t understand.”", "“Nor will you ever. Just do it.”", "So my dad took my hand and walked away not knowing what in the fuck was going on. On our way home, he was trying to figure out what happened. He thought that maybe I messed something up, like peed behind the church or something (which sounded like my kind of thing, but I didn’t do it).", "When we got home, we got a phone call. It was from that priest. He wanted us to come back. Right away. It was a 35 minute ride back. My dad and I were more confused than ever. We arrived at the church, and all the previous baptisms have been performed already. It was only 3 of us there.", "“I decided to baptize your son despite…”", "“Despite what?” my dad asked curiously.", "“I could not tell you. But it is important we do this fast.”", "So we did. I walked in a circle and he went on with his prayers spraying holy water on me. I remember getting bored as hell right before he finally finished. He told us to go away and not to come back unless something out of the ordinary happened to me.", "My dad was just glad we got it done. That was 20 years ago. My dad went back there few days ago. Priest was still alive, although retired. He still lived on the church grounds. It took some talking into (and donations) for him to speak up.", "I got baptized on February 13th 1992. On the night before my baptism, priest was handling his sheep (back in the day, priests raised sheep and cows and lived mostly off of that) when he saw a figure in the dark. It was strange for someone to stand there that late at night, especially because visits were over and all the clerical staff was already in their designated housing.", "“Hey, who is that?” Priest yelled.", "“Come, father.” Woman’s voice spoke calmly.", "Priest explained that from time to time, he’d get visits from desperate people, begging for blessing or shelter. So he went ahead to see what the woman wanted. He said that when he came there, he saw a woman in white, standing, not moving. She was standing among sheep, but they formed a circle around her, almost like a safe distance. Priest claims that he immediately felt something unholy.", "“ What do you want?” he asked in a defensive aggressive voice. At that point he knew it wasn’t a peaceful visitor he was talking to.", "“Tomorrow. Tomorrow you will encounter a boy. Just like any other. His name will be Milos. You won’t baptize him.”", "Priest told my father that he performed several exorcisms before but he was never actually scared. This time, he felt unsafe.", "“You and your kind have no place on this holy ground.”", "“My kind, father? What would that be?”", "“You, demons.” His voice was cracking in fear.", "She laughed. “Demons? I realize you’re a man of cloth, but believing in demons? That takes a lot of faith, father.”", "“I want you to leave, now.”", "“Listen to me you pity priest. I know who you are. I know what you think. I know you feel my strength. Deny my request, and you’ll never sleep in peace again.”", "Then, she left. Rest of the story you know. He refused to baptize me than he changed his mind. Apparently, he told my dad that he’d rather be tormented by an unholy spirit than deny god’s child a chance to connect to Jesus. He also said that he has been paying for it since the day he baptized me.", "Every single night for two weeks after he baptized me, he has been seeing a woman in white appear on his window. She’d just stand there, looking at him with hand tilted. No smile though, but only a face of anger. He’d say many prayers but it didn’t seem to affect her. Then, his sheep started dying. There were no wolf marks, no sign of force. Just laying dead. Finally, number of exorcisms skyrocketed. He claims that this was a direct consequence of him disobeying woman’s orders. He even showed an exorcism videotape (they started filming in the chapel in the mid 90s) to my dad. My dad says it was unreal. Apparently a 13-year-old girl came in the chapel with her mom. Her mom was sobbing in tears begging for help. Priest started performing his ritual when the little girl started throwing stuff around. Priest called two young guys who came in to pray that day and asked them to hold her. She kept walking in circles, with two grown men holding her. And right before she fell to her knees, she said “You shouldn’t have done it father.” She was cured.", "My dad had more than enough of information thrown at him, but he wanted to know what this woman was. Priest said that he originally thought it was a demon, but a lack of prayer efficiency and her freedom of behavior on the holy ground was concerning. He then thought it was some sort of a cult, witchcraft maybe. The problem is, she has been visiting him on February 13th every year. All the livestock he’d have would die on that day. Any sick person coming for help to the church that day would get worse. Number of possessed people would skyrocket abnormally on the 13th. And at the end of the day, she’d come to the window, no matter where he was. He tried talking to her many times, asking what/who she was. She never responded. She never aged. Priest was finally broken down to the point where he quit. He remained living at the grounds, but he couldn’t do his job anymore. He lost faith. He claimed that the god should’ve protected him. My dad says he may be mentally unstable at this point. He was mentioning something about Morana, whatever that meant. It appears to be a goddess of death in some cultures, but I really think this man has gone mad.", "I think that this whole story was jabber of an old man gone senile. Goddesses? Demons? Hardly.", "That would be the disappointing story of my baptism. I have not had any encounters with any of them since the last time. I am moving away, hoping it helps. I also decided this: if I encounter them again, I am taking the orange. I cant go on like this forever. I just… can’t.", "For the ending of this story, go HERE – it will not be posted on Creepypasta. I feel that the final part is most effective when left at its original source.", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the sixth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the continuation book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Five	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-five/	8.61	March 5, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Formalities first: If you’re just joining my diary of horror, please read part one, part two, part three, and part four.", "I have become almost indifferent to what’s going on to me. Since my first story, so much shit happened/was discovered that I became dulled down to the point of almost not giving a fuck. Put that attitude together with the fact that nothing happened (until yesterday) to us since Rose’s break-in, and you have one dude who doesn’t give a shit anymore. I suppose everyone reaches that point at some time. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.", "Anyways, yesterday (Wednesday), I had a day off from work. My girlfriend decided that she wanted to get away from everything for a little while. She went to her friend’s house in our town for few days. I like to alleviate my stress by working out. I had a day off and wanted to do a bit more than just lift weights, so I decided to go on a long bike ride. 50 miles to the next city. It was really cloudy in the morning, so I decided to take nothing with me but a couple of bucks for the bus ride back. (also, ATT&T sent me iPhone 5, and I definitely didn’t wanna take that if it was going to rain). So I went on the bike trip with nothing but my Trek and few dollars.", "About 30 miles into the trip, I got on this bike trail that led almost to the end of my destination. It is a 22 mile trail. I did this trip once in July and the place was packed. Hundreds of fucking cyclist everywhere, could barely move. This time, the trail looked deserted. Nobody on it. And weather became shittier and shittier. Heavy fog set in. I almost felt as if I were in a cloud, it was so moist, but without the actual rain. My shirt was dripping with water, and visibility was shit, but I decided to keep going. Few miles into the trail, I started noticing benches on the side, something I haven’t noticed before. Cool idea since the road is so long, I guess you need a break sometimes. I kept riding though. Visibility was 15 feet at best. About 7 miles into the track, I thought I heard laughing. I squeezed my breaks and slid for few feet. I listened. Nothing. Well, I know what you think, and you’re right. I’m a fucking idiot. Going for a long trip on a secluded track when I have some crazy cunt following me. Plot of a cliché horror movie. I know. And I regret doing what I did. But my reasoning was that nobody ever physically attacked me, so the worst-case scenario would be I am offered another fucking orange.", "I got back on the bike, did few pedal strokes, and heard the laughing again. It was coming from ahead. Fuck it, I’m biking through. Fog decided to have mercy on me and increase the area visibility to about 25 feet. That’s when I saw someone sitting on the bench ahead. I lied to myself saying that its normal for a biker to sit on the side and rest. That’s what it is probably, right? You and I both know that no, it wasn’t a biker sitting there. It was a man. He wore a black suit. No hat or cane though, so I felt a little better. I switched my shit into the highest gear and started pedaling Armstrong style. As I was passing him, he started laughing again. There was nothing around him. No newspapers, no phone, no bike. Just sitting, hands on his knees, not even looking at me. Just looking ahead. And just as I am passing, this fucker starts laughing hysterically. I got fucking scared. It was then that I noticed an orange right next to him on the bench. Then he looked straight at me. Rose encounters were scary as hell, but this man, this man was on a whole new level. I just kept pedaling. I heard the laugh one more time as I was riding away from him. Next 12 miles or so took me about 45 minutes, in other words, I wasn’t slowing down. I got to the town where I wanted to catch a bus and another shock was waiting for me. I arrived at the bus station at 4:10 pm. Last bus was leaving at 4:30. The way these schedules work, this bus would take me to a small town at the beginning of that trail, where I’d catch another bus to home. Well, I come at the bus station and I see that bus only has two bike racks and they’re both taken. Yup, let’s cut the artistic description shit and jump to the point: driver said it was against the rules to put a bike inside the bus. It was the last bus and if I wanted to go back home that night, I’d have to bike to the other town and arrive before 7:00pm, when the last bus for my place leaves. I had 2 and half hours to do 20 miles. Either that or spend the night there. I only had $10 on me so…yea. Bike back you stupid shit. And good luck with that laughing man on the trail.", "I wish I could tell you that I persuaded the driver to let me in. I wish I stayed there that night. Could have maybe tried to pay for the hotel by giving them my credit card number? Could’ve tried. No, I decided to bike, and I got what I deserved.", "Two miles into the trail, I saw something on the ground about 20 feet ahead. I remember thinking how clean they kept this track, so it was strange that the trash would be just obviously laying around. I slowed down. It was a GI Joe action soldier toy. Looked pretty new. Oh well, some kid dropped it while biking with his family. Keep pedaling son. A mile later, another object ahead. Basketball. I stop. Pick it up. Drop it. Eyes full of tears. When I was in about eight grade, there was a basketball 3 on 3 tournament in my school. I was so fucking excited for that shit, man. I gathered the best team I could find. If we’d win, we’d go to an even bigger tournament and maybe win some money. We arrived at the court and realized that only two teams signed up in our age category. We were full of joy because that meant that even if we lost, we’d win some kind of award. We lost, well actually got destroyed by the other kids. But, since we ended in second place, we got a $50 gift card each for a store equivalent to a Foot Locker here. We all ran to that place. My friends all picked shoes and jerseys, but I picked this basketball. It was so unique: it was painted like a chess board-64 squares, 32 black and 32 white. They called me crazy for spending my gift card on it but I loved it. At least for few days until I realized that the colors on it give me headache when it spun and that designers of this ball were stupid assholes. So I threw it in the river when I crossed one of the bridges near my house. And now, now I was holding that same ball, 5000 miles away from home, in the middle of the woods on some bike trail that only I knew I’d be crossing that day. I froze, dropped the ball, and just wanted to yell. You get mad at some point, you know, you get mad that your life isn’t as normal as other people’s. Why cant I worry about shit like whether my NFL team is gonna go to playoffs or whether I’m gonna get a raise? Why do I have to go through this? What did I do? Well I could contemplate about life or I could get the fuck out of these woods and try to catch that bus. I chose the latter. So I kept biking, carefully. After few miles, another thing. A page out of newspaper. It got wet from a light drizzle. I picked it up. It was an article about me. When I just came to the US, the school I played ball for published an article about my life in their paper. There it was, in my hands. I dropped that shit and decided not to stop anymore. I biked by a bike I owned when I was living in Bosnia, I biked by my old Iron Maiden shirt, and by a picture of my family in a broken frame. I biked by a dead cat that was identical to the cat I had when I was 15. The faster I biked, the items from my life became more and more common on the road.", "At this point, my story is becoming more unbelievable than any cheesy movie you’ve seen. Feel free to express all your disbelief, call me a liar. I would. I would call bullshit 3 stories ago. I wish I was fucking with ya’ll. I wish I was doing this for entertainment. I am doing this to get help, advice, to set my mind at ease, at least for a minute.", "So I am flying down the trail. About two more miles and I am out of these woods of hell. It’s getting dark. Dark and more foggy. And then, and fucking then, I hear the laugh. Only this time, it is a child. Or not. I slow down, scared of what’s coming. I see a silhouette sitting on the bench ahead. The same bench where that man was. Laughing again. Not the kind where some criminal mastermind laughs at the evilness of his plan. Playful laugh. I guess you can call it giggle. Only it is not a child. It is a woman sitting there. She is dressed in white. It is Rose.", "I pressed my breaks so hard I was surprised I didn’t fly over the wheel. She was sitting there, legs crossed, looking straight ahead of her, not at me, and laughing. Then she turned towards me, tilted her head, smiled with the many-times-described grin, and said: “Sit.” This was the first time I got scared to the point that my extremities gave up for a second. Other encounters with her, I was in my home, or at least in somewhat of a safe place. This…This was in the woods. And as I type this, I realize even more how fucking stupid it was of me to embark on this trip at a time like this. Maybe subconsciously, I wanted to meet her again. Meet her and bring an end to it. I regained some courage, and got off the bike. I put the bike down slowly and noticed a photo of me and my first girlfriend laying on the road. It was wet and looked burnt. Fuck if I’m stopping now. I’m gonna talk to her. I walked over. She was still smiling, not moving at all.", "“Sit.” In my language. In child’s voice.", "“No.”", "“ You’ve been a very stubborn boy, Milos”", "“I am not a boy. I don’t want to have anything with you people. Why cant you leave me the fuck alone? What do you want from me?” It felt liberating to be able to express all of the frustration and scream at the cunt that caused my girlfriend and me so much pain.", "“No need to yell Milos.”", "“No, there IS a need to yell. You’re fucking with my life!”", "“I only want you to come with me.”", "“First tell me what you want. And then I’ll decide.”", "She took an orange sitting next to her, and offered it to me.", "“It is not your decision to make.” Her voice changed to a more adult one, but still not appropriate for a woman her age.", "“It is my life you fucking bitch!”", "She lost her smile.", "“You know Milos, all this goes far back. You have no power over this. You WILL come.” She yelled that word, “will”. Like yelled it at me. I stepped back, ready to knock her the fuck out. She got up.", "“I will fight you people. I’ll call police, I will…”", "“You can’t do anything.” She cut me off. “Who do you think I am? You think the police can help you? You think your friends can help?”", "“What the fuck are you? A cult? You want me as a sacrifice?”", "She started laughing. She laughed while never closing her eyes, never taking them off of me.", "“You silly boy.” Her voice switched to a child’s version again. “You have so much to learn about us.” She stepped towards me.", "At that point, I honestly believed I was dealing with something other than a human being. I will admit, after I got home and cooled down and thought logically, I went back to my theory of it being a cult. But at that moment, right then, I believed I was encountering something else.", "“I will ask for help from others then.” I said, not knowing what I even meant.", "“Church maybe?” She said it in a way like when I child is imitating your voice just to irritate you. ”You think your gods will save you? Ask your priest about me. Ask and then decide.”", "I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but I decided I had enough. It was time to run. At the same moment, she stepped back, sat back down, and started looking at the orange. I ran back to the bike, got on it and started pedaling like the devil himself was behind me. As I passed her, she started laughing uncontrollably, still looking at the orange.", "I got on the bus at the last moment. I was a wreck during the ride and when I got home. I called the guy from the police station, told him what happened, and he said he’d contact the local police and ask them to go check the trail out. I expect nothing. I spent the whole day thinking about what happened. How could she/them get all my stuff that I am sure didn’t exist anymore? Was that really the same cat I had 12 years ago? How? And what did she mean by “ask my priest”? So many questions and exactly zero fucking answers. I am mentally drained. I didn’t tell my girlfriend about this, because this would probably cause her to have a nervous breakdown. I might have one myself. I am a broken man tormented by something I am not familiar with. I am lost.", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the fifth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Four	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-four/	8.63	March 4, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "If you haven’t read my previous posts, please read stories one, two and three.", "Hey guys, after many PMs asking for an update, I decided to bring you up to speed on whats going on. But first, here is the screenshot of the desktop picture that Rose/her cult put on my laptop. I haven’t been able to find the original photo or any kind of a hidden file. Woman on the left is my mother holding me, and woman on the right is her friend holding my childhood friend. We do not know who the child on the left or woman way in the back are. None of them remember this picture ever being taken.", "", "So after I told my mom what was going on, she talked to y grandma. Grandma didn’t tell her much but my mom had a feeling that she got upset after hearing what was happening. I decided to call my grandma and after much begging, I got this story out of her.", "My grandma was born in Croatia but grew up in Bosnia. She was the kind of a child who’d spend every waking our outside playing, exploring, etc. Her favorite play spot was down by the river not too far from where she lived. She’d often go there with her friends, but on this particular day, none of her friends came along. She went there anyways. She was doing her traditional build-a-fortress-in-the-sand thing, when she heard someone calling. She looked to the road nearby (the only place where anyone could come from, there was only one path to the beach) but nobody was there. She shrugged it off and kept playing. She heard the call again. “Dana.” She looked around. Nothing. “DANA!” She jumped, terrified, and ran to the road to see what in the fuck was going on, but nobody was there. She thought one of her friends was fucking with her and decided to turn around and go back to the fortress. Then she saw him. It was a man, of above average height, maybe 6’4”, dressed in the suit and one of those hats that gentlemen wore in thirties. He had a dark, dark black suit on with white dress shirt underneath and a black tie. Holding a cane. Thing is, he was standing in the water knee deep. In a suit that probably cost arm and a leg at that time. She was taken aback, but as any curious kid, she decided to check what was going on. She walked up to the border where waves were ending. He was still standing in the water. “Yes, mister?” she asked politely.", "“I got something for you.”", "“Yea? What’s that?”", "Well, as predictable as the story may be getting, it is unfortunately fucking true. It was an orange. My grandma grew up in wealthy-ish family and even in the tough economic times, she had an abundance of fruit, so the orange wasn’t causing a “wow” factor in her.", "“Uh… Thanks mister, but I just had lunch. You can give it to someone else.”", "“No, no Dana, this one is specially for you.” He tilted his head to the side and for a second she thought his hat would fall into the river. It didn’t. He still held an orange in his other hand, offering it.", "“But I don’t want it.”", "“You take it, and you take it now.” My grandma’s been through a lot of shit. World war II and Bosnian war. She’s seen shit man. But she said she’s never seen something as scary as that man’s face that day. She was a child and therefore very impressionable with vivid imagination, but she swears that when he said that, his eyes (the white part not the pupils) got much darker and she could see the anger on his face, although he had somewhat of a grin on.", "She started running away. She stopped and turned around to look if he was chasing her. He was just standing there, looking after her. She said she could see the darkness going away from his eyes. He put the orange back into his pocket, turned to the side, and started walking away. Through the fucking river. Like step by step, with his cane, just walking like he was on the street.", "My grandma was scared for a while, but after few years, he was just a memory that was rarely recalled.", "My grandma gave birth to my mom in ’52. It was a happy day because my mom was her first child. Birth went fairly easily, but she was kept in the hospital for few days. Last night before she was released, the man in the black suit came back. Almost 20 years later. She was sleeping (she had a room to herself). She woke up because light came on in her room. In scary movies, you hear the noise but there is nobody there, then suddenly they jump you from behind. Yea, that didn’t happen. She opened her eyes, and he was just standing there in the middle of the room. The same man, same suit, same hat. Not a day older than how he looked 20 years ago.", "Orange in his hand.", "“You did good.”", "“What…what do you want from me?”", "“You brought her.”", "“Who? What do you want?”", "“You only now have to take this, and it will all be over.” He was showing an orange, smiling. It wasn’t a crazy grin, just an almost friendly smile.", "“I don’t want anything from you. Leave or I’ll scream.”", "Well, that’s when he pulled the Rose shit. He tilted his head to the side, put the scariest grin on his face revealing the whitest teeth you’ll ever see. He started speaking in the voice of a 10-12 year old child.", "“But Dana, you don’t know.”", "“GET OUT!”", "“He will take it.” As he said that with his child voice, he lost the grin, put his head back in normal position, turned around and walked away. Before he got out of the room, he turned the light off. She never told anyone about this man until I pulled it out of her.", "It’s been little more than 30 years since then until she saw him one last time. It was war in Bosnia. Country demolished by politician assholes who just wanted money. You know how wars work. Anyways, times were tough. Food supply was extremely limited. My grandma and grandpa would go days without eating. They’d hunt pigeons on the balcony and shit. That bad. But then, an orange started appearing on their doorstep every day. One orange, in the center of the welcome rug. She remembers how bright it was compared to the grayness surrounding them. She’d throw every single one of those fuckers out. My grandpa was confused as to why she’d throw away perfectly good food in times like these, but she wouldn’t tell him. Until they showed up. Yes, they. The man in black and…well, Rose. It was ’93. They were bombing the shit out of their town that day and nobody would even so much as stick their head through the window, let alone walk out. But my grandparents heard knocking. They thought someone had finally come to take care of them. Knowing that intruder would enter anyways if they really wanted to, they opened. On their left, the same man was standing. Same black suit, same hat, same cane. Same age. More than 50 years later. Next to him was a woman in red shoes, white dress, long black hair, extremely pale skin color, and a lipstick so bright it would make you nostalgic for the grayness of wartime. She had her head tilted too, smiling ear to ear.", "“Hello Dana.” She spoke in a voice my grandma says could only belong to a very, very young girl.", "“What the fuck is this?” My grandpa asked. Immediately, both of these people’s (I still call them people) faces lost grins and looked at my grandpa.", "“You may want to be silent.” Rose spoke in her original, adult voice (or what my grandma assumes would be her natural voice.)", "My grandpa had been shot at, tortured, starved, but he never felt the fear like that. He lost his voice and shut the hell up.", "Their grins returned, head tilted, teeth popped out shiny as ever.", "“Where is he?” Rose asked her in her childish version of a voice.", "“Who? What do you want from us? We have nothing!”", "“Don’t do this. Just tell us where.” Seemed like Rose was losing patience.", "“But who?”", "“Your grandson.” Her eyes pierced my grandma’s soul. She felt blood freeze in her veins.", "“He…he is not here. He is in Montenegro.” She though that whoever these people are, they’d give up once they found that her grandson (presumably me) has moved away hundreds of miles away.", "They produced even wider smiles, if that was actually possible. They turned around almost synchronized, and walked away. My grandparent watched them leave over the balcony. Bullets were flying around, bombs falling everywhere, and they were just walking down the street with no fucks given. Heads still tilted. They could see them smiling.", "So, I’ll be the first to call it. Bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit. This is becoming a fairy tale. This ain’t happening man. Yea. I’m with you. Had I read it here or anywhere else, I’d enjoy the story then tell OP to go fuck himself for trying to convince me this shit is real.", "But, this shit is real.", "I have no logical explanation for it. Are they a cult? Maybe. Why don’t they age? Why are they everywhere? Why are they following everyone I know? Fuck me if I know.", "", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the fourth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Three	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-three/	8.73	March 3, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Anyone who hasn’t read my story should do so before looking in this thread. My first story had some updates to it too. My second story is my girlfriend’s account of the events.", "Hey guys, I promised pictures and updates, so here we go. I will also respond to some questions. So first’s things first, let me bring you up to speed:", "I realize that some may suggest that the man was part of the cult and tried to “force” us onto each other, but it still took free will from both of us to do what we did, so I doubt the possibility of that conspiracy.", "Some updates regarding the pictures I am posting here:", "8 So, I snapped a few pics before the police came. Also, after they left (and left the orange), I noticed something engraved/written on the peel. I took a photo of that too. Bottom word I was able to decipher: It says “OTVORI” which means “open” in my language. Top word I cant tell what it is.", "Enough bullshiting.", "If anyone can make any sense out of this, I’d appreciate any help at this point. Polaroid picture is at the police station, but the cop I know told me that if nothing happens within few days, I’d be able to at least come and make a copy of it if I really wanted to.", "That’s all for now.", "Edit: I blurred out part of the last image to protect my privacy, it was revealing my name. Kind Redditor discovered it and messaged me.", "So, here’s another update: (also, do I update on these posts or create new ones?)", "I told my mother what’s going on and she asked to see the picture. She recognized it. The woman in the picture is her friend from when I was a child and the kid in the picture is her son. She doesn’t know where the pic came from, or that it was ever taken for that matter. My mom said she spoke to my grandma who still lives in Bosnia and my grandma seems to know something. I will have to call her tomorrow. Later on, I will upload the desktop pic that was put on my lap top. Still in search of original files and/or hidden folders.", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the third in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Two	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-two/	8.86	March 2, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Before you read my girlfriend’s side of the story, you may want to read my first post that also contains last night’s unfortunate update. Here is the update copy/pasted:", "Okay guys, I realize I am a bit late with my girlfriend’s story, but when you read my latest update, you’ll see that I was quite consumed with what was happening to us. Nothing happened since the incident last night. Police called to check in with us this morning; they still have no clue what is going on really.", "So her story… Let me begin by telling you a bit about us. As I said before, I was born in Bosnia, moved to a nearby country in Balkans where I grew up. I came to the US over 6 years ago. My girlfriend was born in India, grew up in Kenya until she was 3, when she moved to Canada. I met her little over a year ago, and we’ve been together since.", "So, my girl, let’s call her Lila, did have few encounters with Rose. First one that she remembers was on the plane. She was a flight attendant for Air Canada for several years. One day, about 6 years ago, she was flying her regular flight, but she can’t remember what destination it was. It lasted maybe two hours. Once they took off and seat-belt signs went away, she got up to serve complimentary drinks. Halfway through her section, she met Rose. She didn’t know it at the time, of course. She said that something was terribly off about the woman; she had this creepy grin on her face, was really pale and kept staring at her. When Lila offered her a drink and some snacks, she got no answer, only a wider and creepier fucking smile. Then, Rose spoke.", "“I have something for you.” She said in a voice that definitely wasn’t natural for a woman her age. Her voice belonged more to a teenager than an adult. There was something playful but terrifying in it.", "Now, Lila has seen some shit while flying, so she wasn’t taken back by this interaction.", "“Yea? What would that be, ma’am?”", "“Don’t patronize me, you bitch.” She said that fast. Like really fast. Her jaw was closed while saying that. Then she started grinding her teeth, never letting go of that fucking smile. This was a red flag for Lila. When passengers get aggressive, attendants walk away unless there is physical contact.", "“Alright, well, you have a pleasant rest of the flight ma’am, okay?”", "“I have this for you.” She whispered it holding taking an orange from behind her back. Never moving a muscle on her face. Still a teenage voice. Like when a 12 year old hits puberty kind of voice.", "“No, thanks.” Lila decided to call it a day with the crazy cunt and walk away.", "“Oh, but you should. Or one day, you know, one day.”", "And that’s that. Lila gave her the fuck off look and walked away. Lady never bothered her again during that flight. During that flight.", "Lila went home few days later and didn’t think much of what had happened. When her mom asked her how her flight was, Lila smiled and said “Good, other than one really crazy lady.” Mom wanted to hear more, so Lila started telling her about what happened. By the time she said the word “orange”, her mom started crying. Lila was in shock. It was story time. Well, apparently, when my girlfriend was a baby in Kenya, she had woken her parents up a few times with loud crying. When they’d walk into her room, she’d have an orange next to her in her crib. Everything in the house would be locked though. Windows, doors, everything. It got to the point where her parents moved the crib into their room and installed security cameras. Well, on Lila’s third birthday, that morning, when they woke up, they saw an orange laying on Lila’s chest. They were absolutely taken over by horror. They called the police; police came and looked over the camera footage. Cameras clearly showed a woman opening the front door (that was locked), walking into their room, placing an orange on Lila and just standing there. For like an hour. Just standing there, with her head tilted to the left, looking at her. By this point, it is unnecessary to say that Lila was completely horrified. Her mom wasn’t doing much better either. Anyways, to keep the story going, her parents didn’t know what to do. Police couldn’t find the mysterious woman, and no security measure (other than 24/7 bodyguards which they couldn’t afford) was enough. Some of their family was already in Canada and were pressuring them to move, so this incident was a final push. They moved and left this creature with an orange behind. Until that day, on that flight.", "Lila was completely unable to do anything for the next few days after that conversation. She didn’t eat much, didn’t communicate with anyone. After a while, she got better. There was no sign of further horror, so she started believing it was all a fucked up coincidence. And she went on with her life. She hasn’t seen Rose in years after that. Last time she encountered Rose was one month before she (Lila) met me.", "Lila did many transatlantic flights. She loved those. Long travels, decent money, seeing the world. She had it all. One month before we met, she was coming back from a Hong Kong trip. She flew to Toronto I believe (she’s asleep, and I don’t remember exactly, I believe it was Toronto though). Crew had a nice hotel, everyone had their own room. Lila was on the third floor. She loved drinking at that time, and got pretty drunk that night. She passed out at about 1:00 am. At around 4am, she heard a knock on the door. Then another one, and then another one. But they weren’t loud or fast knocks. No, they were slow and silent, yet loud enough to wake her drunk ass up. She rolled out of bed thinking it was one of her equally drunk crew members. Not thinking much, she opened the door and there she stood. Lila said that lights in her room were off, but TV was on. Light from the screen was shinning on Rose’s face. Shining on the grin. Shinning on the pearly white teeth, bright red lipstick and a white face paired up with tilted head. You know how when you’re drunk and some scary shit (accident, cops, etc.) happens and you sober the fuck up immediately? Yea. She just let out this helpless sound of horror. They both stood there. Rose started rocking back and forth. Every time she’d rock back, she’d reveal red shoes hidden underneath her white dress. Her teeth were grinding. Then she pulled out an orange.", "“Wh…what do you want from me?” Lila begged.", "Rose kept rocking with a smile.", "“Please, just leave me alone. I don’t have anything.”", "“You take it. You take it now. He will too.” She said that with that same teenager voice, only a little more playful tone was used this time. Like a happy-ish child.", "Don’t know if it was her defense mechanism activating, but Lila took the fucking orange and threw it over Rose’s head and screamed “Get the fuck out of here, and take this shit with you, you freak!”", "That was the first time either of us saw Rose lose her smile. White teeth disappeared underneath the thick red lips. Head went back from a gentle tilt into its natural position.", "“I will see you two soon.” She said it in adult voice. And this voice was scarier than the teenager one. Lila says its because it sounded real. Like a conscious, normal person making a threat. Of course, at that time Lila didn’t know me and had no idea who “you two” were. She assumed it’d be her mom.", "That brings us to today. Yea. If you read the update from my previous story, you saw that our room was broken into by Rose (logical assumption). Pictures of the break-in were taken before police came. They will be up on here today. Some stuff in our room was moved around. We are scared as fuck, clueless as to what’s going on. I will be skyping with my mom soon to see if she has any answers. Lila will talk to her mom as well.", "I am personally just shocked at these developments. I never believed anything like this was even possible. Quite honestly, if one of you wrote this story here, I wouldn’t believe shit you said. And I cant blame you if you don’t believe me. But if you have any idea about what this might be, I’m all ears. I assume it’s some sort of a cult, but the only thing that fucks with my head is the fact that Rose knew my girlfriend before I did. Everything so far could’ve been explained in a logical way, but this took it to a super-fucking-natural level. Were they putting an effort into getting us together? How’d they do that? And more importantly, why? For what possible benefit? Fuck this man, fuck this.", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the second in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
March 2013 Discussion Post: What Do You Most Fear?	https://www.creepypasta.com/march-2013-discussion-post-what-do-you-most-fear/	3.38	March 1, 2013	301	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "This month’s discussion post was suggested by YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE USERNAME!", "What do you most fear? It’s a question that, I hope, should spark some interesting comments as well as serve to inspire some of the writing community.", "As with last month’s discussion post, anecdotes and slightly longer comments will be allowed as I understand that this question may prompt some detailed and involved responses. However, if your comment appears more like an attempt at a stealth-submission and less of an honest response to the question, prepare for it to be hit with the spam button.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part One	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-story-of-her-holding-an-orange-part-one/	8.97	March 1, 2013	301	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Based on True Events", "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Okay guys, before I begin, I gotta give you a fair warning. This story is absolutely true unfortunately. It is also very long. It goes back to my childhood, but it wasn’t as terrifying until very recently. Now I am completely lost in fear. I am an adult man, logical and intelligent (or I’d like to believe so) sitting in my bed, scared shitless right now, goosebumps all over my body and tears of horror in my eyes. I ask for your help in explaining this fucking horrifying thing. Caution: you’ll notice that I curse quite a bit.", "I want you to know that what you read from now on is the situation perceived by my mind. I like to think that I am a very rational person and I haven’t been able to explain these occurrences in any natural way.", "Since my mom got a new job, she started making new friends. It is common in our country that friends come to each other’s houses for a cup of coffee, cake, gossip and whatnot. Few weeks into her new job, my mom made friends with this woman, Rose. She would come maybe twice a week and they’d sit around the coffee table on our balcony and just talk. One day, when I was 17, I was at the balcony with them. I’m not sure why I was there, but knowing me, I probably ran out of internet hours (back in a day we bought internet monthly per hour in my country) and was bored as fuck. So we’re sitting there, they’re gossiping about who knows what, and mom gets up to go get some cake she had baked recently. I remained sitting at the table with Rose and that’s when my life changed forever. Rose was a good looking woman. She was about 5’6”, skinny, long black hair, pearly white teeth. Attractive woman overall. So anyways, I am sitting there with her, and she turns to me. She has this creepy grin on her face; bright red lipstick with bright white teeth underneath are just making it look more scary. Her head is moving slowly, almost as if she became a puppet. She says something in the lowest tone possible, certainly not loud enough for me to understand. “Excuse me?” I say, still not being scared, just a bit weirded out.", "“You ready to go now?” She said this in a voice of a child, I kid you not. Like maybe an 8 year old girl.", "Grin is still there. She mustered those words through her teeth, never opening the jaw.", "“What?” I ask, starting to get scared.", "“You ready?” The same thing again. Only this time, she pulls out an orange out of her purse. That’s it, she just took the orange out, and held it there. Didn’t offer it, didn’t eat it herself, just held the fucking thing.", "At that point, I was getting scared as fuck. Thankfully, my mom came with the cake. Rose, almost as if someone pushed a button on a remote control, switched back to her normal self, putting the orange back into her purse without my mom noticing. I left the balcony creeped out, but I was 17 so I brushed it off quickly.", "That night, I had trouble sleeping. My room is on the first floor and my window is at a maybe 5’ height, so I kept looking at it praying not to see some scary monster. I would turn in my bed constantly and look at the window maybe every 5 minutes. It was getting late and I started to doze off, but decided to look into the window one last time. And there she fucking was. Standing in the fucking window. Rose. Just standing, looking directly at me (moonlight was bright enough for me to see), with the same grin on her face. Lipstick was red as ever, and teeth were whither than ever. I was paralyzed with fear. I often imagined what I’d do in situations like these, and I always had an escape plan for any hypothetical I threw at myself. But now, when this friend of my mother’s was staring at me through my window at 4am, just smiling, I was motionless. My mouth got dry, I got goosebumps (have them now as I type this), and I swear it became freezing in my room, probably just the way the body reacts to shock. I finally gathered the courage to get up. I started walking towards the door. Hear head was turning with me. Slowly. With the grin still there. Again, it was as if she were a puppet. I wanted to scream for my parents, but knowing how tense they are, I decided not to cause panic just yet. There had to be some rational explanation, right? For fuck knows what reason, I decided to walk to the window and ask her what the fuck her problem was. I made two slow steps towards it and froze. I froze because she moved. You know what her movement was? Taking the orange out of her purse. Does anyone know what the record time is for having goosebumps? Because they sure as shit aren’t going away. Anyways, after being terrified for a minute, I decide to go on. I am a big guy and figured I’d be able to fight her off if push comes to shove. My windows pull up in order to open. I pull it open maybe some 10 inches and stop. She’s not moving, just holding the fucking orange and looking at me with the scariest grin you’ll ever see. I stand there. She stands there. Then, she starts bending. But every move she makes is so slow, so mechanical. She’s bending so she can reach the open part of the window. I’m horrified. She pushes her head through it (just enough space for her head to go through).", "“You go with me now?” As she’s saying that, in her 8 year old voice, her hand is making its way through the crack, holding an orange. What do I to? What you’d do. Fucking run. I run out of my room, screaming for my dad. My dad being a light sleeper, he jumps out of his bed and screams back at me asking what the hell is going on. All I can muster to say is “Rose…window.” While dad is putting his pants on, I run back to my room, wanting Rose to be there so he can see that I am not crazy. You know how in horror movies the person you saw is gone by the time witnesses come? Yea well similar thing happened, except I caught Rose leaving. There is a house some 100 yards away from mine, and it had one of those motion activated lights (lots of crime back home). I saw the light turn on, and a glimpse of Rose disappearing behind that house. By the time dad ran into my room, she was gone. After much talking, he decided that it was just a nightmare and told me to call him only if someone physically comes into my room. “You and your fucking imagination” he said walking away. Needless to say, I got exactly zero hours of sleep that night.", "Nothing happened in the next few months. Rose would still come to visit my mom, but I’d make sure I wasn’t there. Fuck that. As in every teenager’s life, so many things were happening around me and I forgot about the Rose incident. Then one day, I was spending my afternoon browsing internet (years before Reddit unfortunately). I got pretty hungry so as any spoiled child, I yelled from my room to see if my mom would come. She didn’t. Oh well tough luck, I have to go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich. Kitchen in our house is connected to the living room, but you can’t see the living room until you’re at least in the middle of the kitchen. So I open the kitchen and walk in. I freeze. There it is, right there on the kitchen table. An orange. Immediate thought of that creepy night. Rose is here. I am still motionless in my spot. Few seconds later, I realize how stupid I am for relating a common piece of fruit to a crazy window stalker. So I walk towards the table, wanting to put the orange back in the fruit cabinet. I grab the thing and hear the voice behind me: “You will have to come with me soon, you know.” Child’s voice. It’s Rose. I produce some kind of noise resembling scared pig about to get slaughtered. Lightning fast, I turn around and there she is, standing in the middle of the living room. Just standing there, same grin on her face, same lipstick on her lips, teeth white as ever. Only she started tilting her head to the left a bit, in slow motion. I remember it as if it happened yesterday: her long black hair falling down her shoulders, white summer dress, bright red shoes to match her lipstick. I forgot to mention that she was very pale. Even in the summer, she seemed to not be friends with the sun. This added to creepiness. There’s this woman who already scared the shit out of me once, standing alone in the middle of my living room, pale as a ghost, bright red lipstick and shoes, tilting her head to the side, speaking in child’s voice. And then, and fucking then, she takes an orange out of her purse. Takes it out slowly, and looks at me, as if she wants me to have it. Just as my self-defense mode is about to take over and I either run away or tackle the crazy bitch, my mom walks in. I know it didn’t happen, but it seemed like my mom brought the light into the room. I released a breath of relief. Rose, of course, went back to her “normal” self. They were about to go for a walk and my mom was getting ready in her room while she was pulling her grudge shit on me.", "Since my parents wouldn’t believe anything I was saying about her, I wasn’t sure what to do. Only thing I could do at that age is nothing, I suppose. But I swore I’d punch that woman should she ever come close to me again.", "A year or so had passed without any incidents and I was getting ready to go to the United States to study in college. Since I was going to play basketball there, I had to prepare for it. I spent summer away from home, working out in a training camp in a town about 40 miles from my city. During the last night of the camp, the last incident happened. My roommate had left the camp the day before and I had the room to myself. I was very excited about going to America in few days and had trouble sleeping. My room had a beautiful balcony (I was on the third floor of a hotel). Since it was warm, I decided to sit in the chair on the balcony for a while. I walked out, sat down, and immediately regretted it.", "“It is really time to come now.”", "I nearly shit myself. I mean, it’s been a while since I last heard that voice, but something like that stays with you forever. I turned my head to the right, and Rose was standing on the fence of a balcony of the room next to mine. Mind you, not standing on the balcony, or sitting at the table, but standing on the fence. How she was balancing I don’t know. Balcony was at least 50 feet from the ground. And she was holding the orange. Fucking orange. Only this time, orange seemed to have been somewhat rotten, not nearly as bright as the first three times. I was scared that she would attempt to jump over to my balcony, as there was only few feet distance between them. I was also scared she’d die in attempt to do so and I’d be blamed somehow. I had no idea what the fuck was going on.", "“It really is time, you know.” She said it in that child like voice, never opening her jaw, her teeth forever clenched together, and lipstick the color of fresh blood. She seemed even paler this time, and her head was tilted to the left even more. She wore red shoes.", "“What the fuck do you want from me?” I screamed in desperation, angry that this woman is causing me so much distress, but also hoping that someone would hear me and come witness this crazy bitch’s harassment.", "“I only want you to go where you belong.” She said that, and again, never opened her teeth. She only sprang her hand more towards me, almost offering me that semi rotten orange.", "“Fuck you, you crazy bitch.” I opened the door of my room, and as I was walking in, I heard: “You will come.”", "I slammed the door, deciding this woman was schizophrenic. I would’ve probably flipped out more, but I was leaving the continent in few days, at which point I was safe. Wrong.", "I know I have a wall of fucking text but this is the shortest version of these creepy events. I came to the US, and have been here for 7 years now. I forgot about the incidents and went on with my life. Only time I ever thought about Rose was when talking to my mom who said that since I left, her friendship with the crazy bitch fell apart. I was glad. Last 7 years were the best of my life. I got bachelor’s and master’s degrees, I got a wonderful girlfriend, you know, life’s good, man. But then. But fucking then. I am a big technology geek, and I love Apple (don’t shoot me down for this please). So, it was Last Friday, September 21st, the release of iPhone 5. I am in front of the store with about 50 other people. I am maybe 15th in line. It’s raining. It’s cold. I’ve been there for about 4 hours now. Doors finally open. We start moving in slowly. I look across the street and instantly stop. People run into my back, I can hear complaining. But it’s all bouncing off of me. Across the street, I see a woman in a white dress, head tilted, holding something orange-ish. Grin on her face. Lipstick so bright red, I can see it from across the street. I can’t move. Someone from far in the back pushes, causing me to fall. While I gather myself, I see the woman disappearing behind the corner. I remain sitting on the ground. It was Rose. It was her, I swear. I sit there for few minutes, get myself together, and walk in the store. No phones left. I decide to walk across the street. And there it was. At the place where she was standing now only sits a mushed, terribly rotten orange. That’s it. Just a rotten orange. I started crying. All memories came back. I thought that my whole life would constitute of being stalked by some maniac. And how did she find me anyways? I spent next few hours in a nearby coffee shop, drinking tea and reasoning how this could be logically possible. I kept no secret from my friends and family about my whereabouts. Did she stalk my Facebook? My friends? Did she travel here to harm me? What the fuck is her deal? Answering no questions I asked myself, I went home, deciding to keep it all to myself. My girlfriend noticed something was wrong with me for the next few days, but didn’t push it. I figured it was all a fluke, my mind playing tricks because I was up all night before that morning. Plus, it was raining. How could I see that well? And that orange, well that was just a coincidence. I convinced myself that I was just making it all up.", "So today, a letter came. I get a lot of mail, so it’s not that out of the ordinary. But there was this envelope with no return address. I opened it and was immediately shocked. I was holding a Polaroid picture. In it, there was me, standing in line in front of the store last Friday. Only the picture was taken by a person behind me. It was taken at the moment I was looking across the street. I can tell because I could see the horror on my face. On the back of the photo, there were few words written with a black pen:", "“you come with me, NOW.”", "I dropped the picture and started crying like a baby. Like really crying my ass off. My girlfriend found me in our room, curled up on bed, still crying. She was terrified that maybe someone close to us had died, as she’s never seen me let a single tear before. I had to tell her. I started telling her the story, leaving most details out, so I can get to the point quicker. As I was talking, she was getting more and more pale. She never said a word. I finished my story and she was pale as ghost, not moving. Then she asked. She asked a fucking question that honestly caused me to almost faint. She said: “This woman, did she happen, to… um, hold an orange?” I froze, she started crying like I’ve never seen her cry before.", "We had a long talk that night, and her story would require another wall of text. Honestly, I am fucking tired from typing this much and am pretty sure nobody will be willing to read this much. I am also lost. Terrified. Confused. But if someone does read this, I’ll write the rest. I’ll write in hope that someone can offer a solution, and an answer maybe. Currently, we are both scared as fuck, not knowing what to do next. Police is an option, but what do we tell them? I don’t know man, I am fucking scared for mine and her well being. Help me.", "Update: Well guys, shit. Don’t know what to tell you. It happened again today. Except I didn’t see her. Let me give you a quick rundown of events:", "We spent next few hours just talking, man. Trying to figure it out. We’re exhausted both mentally and physically. I am going to Skype with my mom tomorrow and see if she knows anything. I will type up my gf’s story tonight, but may post it in the morning if I don’t finish it all in time. I will include photos I took, I promise you that much.", "Holy fuck, this shit is happening to me.", "Credit To – Milos Bogetic", "NOTE: This is the first in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.", "The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.", "You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.", "I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Chop the Willow	https://www.creepypasta.com/chop-the-willow/	8.81	February 28, 2013	301	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Related: Harlequin No.7 & The Kindness of Strangers", "“I ask him why above he crawls,\nscratching apart my bedroom walls.\nAnd he looks down through white eyes peeping,\nAnd says…\nI’m not crawling, I’m simply creeping.”", "– Music & lyrics by Billie-Joe Kimble.", "The job of a mortician is to belittle the profound horror and loss of death, while simultaneously profiting off of the misery of others. No one in the industry aside from myself has the balls to say it, but the simple fact is that it’s true. We take the deceased and pretty them up; dress up their hair, throw them in some nice clothes and drop them under six feet of dirt. But the dead don’t really care do they? Well, we don’t do it for the dead. No, we do it for the grieving friends and family. We make it easier to say goodbye, like an emotional crutch if you will. We let them cry and come to terms with the fact that their friend or mother or son is gone for good, all while collecting a fat paycheck. The reason is of course because of fear. People fear death, and when someone close dies, it forces them to accept their own mortality. Animals don’t have this problem. A few moments of fear and pain will be a squirrel’s only awareness of the impending void. Humans though, we live our whole lives knowing that it could all end without reason or warning, so of course we make up these little rituals to get us through it. And of course, somebody has to facilitate this entire process. Squirrels don’t have this process. Squirrels don’t need booze money.", "I only say any of this because as upsetting as it is, dying is at least a natural thing. You can see that it happens, that it is concrete and constant. You can understand it. But there are some things, dark and squirming things that crawl into our world. Things that don’t make sense, things that are just plain wrong.", "I was staring at a clock when she called. It was just after 3 a.m. I’d been having trouble sleeping for some time now, and when I can’t sleep I have a tendency to obsess over minor dilemmas. Take this instance for example. I was trying to cut out a newspaper article on this type of black mold that can apparently wiggle its way into a brain and release trace amounts of bio toxins to alter the behavior of mammals, when the ticking of the clock above my dresser distracted me. I stared at it without moving, and I started to think about how the rhythmic ticks were my only connection to a linear time line. In a room without motion, a static environment, time could be moving at whatever pace it wanted and I would have no way of knowing. Without the clock, I could be sitting still for what could be years and I wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise. I was lost in a trance until the phone rang. I picked up. It was Billie.", "“Hey, Stephan, you’re awake. That’s awesome. So guess what? We have a problem,” She said over the phone.\n“It’s Harris, and can it wait? I’m conducting some rather important business here.” I lied.\n“No, not really,” She said. “We need to deal with this now. That hitchhiker at the Broken Window apparently stumbled upon some polyps down on Christian Light Road. The chuckle fucks tried to get him to eat some.”\n“So? Get Terry to go with you.”\n“No good,” Billie argued. “Terry’s watching the hitcher. Gotta put him in quarantine right? We can’t have some teenage blonde boy runaway spreading this shit. You said so yourself.”\n“Alright damn it, but you have to pick me up, I think I’m still legally drunk.” I sighed. She was right. This couldn’t spread past the town limits. Why I cared is beyond me.", "Hold on; let me back up a bit. A few months ago I moved Charlottesville, N.C. when a new embalming position opened up. I took the job and things went well for a few weeks. That was until I discovered a mysterious jar with an even more mysterious thing inside. It was labeled, ‘Harlequin No.7.’ I learned not long after that there were more of these worm-like things, as I found out the day after a botched attempt to study the freaky little bugger while embalming a man who died that same night. From what I could gather, they apparently live inside of people’s heads, doing whatever it is that they do until they decide to kill the host and corkscrew out of their brainstem. After a bit of research on the town death records and old newspapers, I came to the conclusion that these Harlequin things have something to do with a paper mill fire twenty something years back. As it would turn out, Mr. Havenbrook (the man whose head burst open on my embalming table) was a survivor of said mill fire. So were some of the others. By “others,” I mean the first batch of crazies that came through my mortuary, all within the same week. It was the same story with each one of them; Someone starts acting weird and paranoid, seemingly due to dementia, before eventually having a seizure and dropping dead. They would end up undergoing an autopsy at the morgue, at which point the declared cause of death would be, “cerebral aneurysm.” Even with x-rays, toxicology screening, and in several cases invasive surgery, no one ever discovered the parasites. It wouldn’t be until I pumped their bodies full of formalin that the little bastards would make themselves known, in the most volatile way at that.", "So far, I have seen six of these things. The first one, the one I found in the basement of Burnswick Funeral, got blown to bits by my friend, the lovely Miss Billie-Joe Kimble. Three through five I managed to capture. By the time I got to them I had grown accustomed to the tell-tale signs of Harlequin infection. The lights flicker, the air shimmers, and occasionally if you’re near a radio tuned to an FM station you’ll start picking up some disturbing sounding feedback. Following that, the cadaver partially reanimates and the Harlequin explodes out of the back of the head (or in one case, the eye socket). So, like I said, I captured Harlequins No.6, No.5, No.4, and No.3 in mayonnaise jars filled with formaldehyde (I’m under the assumption that CH2O kills them) before fixing up the deceased in such a way to hide the evidence. No.2, the one from Havenbrook, slithered down the mortuary floor drain. That probably explains where all of the other weird shit that’s been happening came from.", "Okay, I just want to say that none of this is my fault. Well, actually, most of it is, considering that I opened the initial can of worms (no pun intended), but I had no idea what an escaped alien brain parasite would entail. They don’t teach you this sort of thing in college. Where was I? Oh right, Lucid Marsh.", "Lucid Marsh is the boggy wet land just south of Charlottesville and east of Christian Light Road. The place has a reputation of being quite easy to get lost in, as well as a couple of old legends about a certain “moonlight fairy,” that supposedly leads the more disoriented folks into sinkholes. I doubt any of those rumors are true, but regardless the marsh is home to glowing swamp gas and a particular breed of giant moth that showed up seventy years back. It’s also where most of the town’s drainage ends up.\nSo here’s what happened; almost a month after I thought the whole Harlequin thing was over and done with, this outdoorsy guy came into the Broken Window bitching about how the Sheriff is a lazy prick and tried to round up a pose to help find his friend. Terry, being an outgoing and generally empathetic man went ahead and asked him what happened. As the guy apparently told Terry, he and his buddy “Bud” Huston were out “catfisting” in the marsh, when Bud, while reaching his arm down into a murky hole, suddenly started screaming before being dragged under the shallow water, only to reemerge fifty or so feet away. When Jake (the outdoorsy guy in the bar) finally got over to him to help him up, he saw that Buds ears and nose were both bleeding. Bud, mumbling to himself incoherently, tried to bite Jake before running franticly away into the deeper part of Lucid Marsh.\nBillie and I later went out to the marsh with Jake to see what we could find. We came home empty handed. A waste of an afternoon and a good pair of shoes in my opinion.\nIt wasn’t long after that that other people started to disappear. Not a whole lot mind you, maybe two or three, but it was enough to get the town talking again about those weird lights in the sky and the unexplained aneurysms. Oh right, the lights… yeah, it sounds cool but the truth is that it will scare the absolute piss out of you. They didn’t show up all that much, or for all that long either, maybe once every couple of weeks for a second or two, but never more. However, I have personally seen them twice. The first time was… unexpected to say the least, but the second time was something else entirely. Walking home one starless night after work, I started to get this feeling that something was sneaking up behind me. When I turned around though, the feeling didn’t go away. It was like no matter which way I was facing there was always something just behind me, ducking out of sight the moment I changed direction. It was about when I started to get dizzy from spinning around so many times that I heard this low rumbling coming from above. It wasn’t a thunderclap so much as it was a foghorn, so deep and low that I didn’t hear it so much as felt it. I looked up, and the sky blazed in a yellow-green flash of a dozen or so orbs, pulsating and circling around each other, disappearing and reappearing into and out of the clouds. Then they were gone. I remember standing there in the middle of the street, covered in sweat and shaking. It had to have been at least ninety degrees that night, but I can’t think of any other instance where I felt so cold.\nThere have been other things going on besides lights and missing persons. I’ve heard around town that cows and horses have been found in the early hours of the morning without heads. Just ripped right off at the base of the neck is what a couple of farmers have been saying. One farmer said that he stayed awake through an entire night waiting to shoot whatever had been decapitating his livestock. I heard later that he sold his land on the first bid and moved to Alaska or something. “Somewhere where they ain’t got no damn snakes.” He said.\nThis is of course just some of the stuff that people have been talking about. Who knows what kind of Mulder and Scully tag team action would be fired up my ass if people knew about the five jars in my fridge. Speaking of which, I put some of what I could cut off of No.5 under a microscope to see if I could learn anything. I figured out two things: first, Harlequin cells bare a striking resemblance to cancer cells, and second, if you dump Harlequin parts into the trash along with uneaten food, that shit will grow into one hell of a science project. By that I mean, rancid chicken plus alien tissue sample equals alien mushroom babies. It didn’t work with banana peels or onions though. I guess they’re carnivores. Lucky me. The point is, these things reproduce by budding from decaying flesh. You see where I’m going with this right? How the Harlequin kills its host but goes apeshit when exposed to chemicals that actively prevent the process of decomposition? This was how Billie and I came to the conclusion that the buds or “polyps” would eventually hatch and grow into more Harlequin. We never tested this theory, for obvious reasons, but the assumption seems valid enough. Especially when some hitchhiker manages to come into contact with a group of psycho pod people trying to get him to eat a certain type of raw meatball that just so happens to match the description of our previously mentioned Harlequin babies. Which brings me back to present.\nBefore Billie arrived, I grabbed a flashlight and another pack of cigarettes. Also, just to be safe, I nabbed a gas can full of kerosene from my shed and a pair of leather gloves. I had just finished collecting my supplies when I heard the knock at the door. I answered.\n“Hey there Ste- Harris, ready to go on an adventure?” Billie asked, still standing on my porch. I saw that she had brought along her bass guitar case. I doubted that there was any actual musical instrument in there. She may be a skinny little thing covered in silly tattoos, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that she wrestles bears in her free time. She’s dangerous is what I’m saying.\n“I’m ready I guess. Wait, did you walk here?”\n“Um… Yeah about that, we’re taking your car. Hope you’re cool with that.” I wasn’t, but I was too tired to argue about it, even though Billie drives like a retarded cheetah on crack and a ’69 Dodge Charger isn’t a cheap restoration even in the best economy.", "I tossed Billie my keys after we loaded up the trunk. She started up the engine, I lit another cigarette, and then we took off into the hazy February night, driving east through town. I’ve always hated Charlottesville, but sometimes, at the right time of night and season, I kind of like it. The way the orange streetlights illuminate the fog, the way the power lines crisscross above the narrow alleyways of the downtown and how the rusty old water tower hovers ominously in the sky, it just gives me a warm feeling of stoic reserve that somehow complements my natural interest in the macabre. Maybe it’s because on a night like this you start to forget about all meth labs and dirty looks, the racism and bible thumpers and trailer parks. One day I’ll get sick of Charlottesville and probably move to Asheville or something, somewhere kind of artsy and forward thinking, maybe persuade Terry and Billie to leave too. It can’t be easy for them to live in a place like this. Terry is one of a handful of black people and Billie is just, well, she’s Billie. But for now I guess we’ll call this shithole home. I lit another cigarette as we passed the Trinity Baptist Church. The lights were on.", "“What the hell?” I asked Billie. What the hell indeed. It wasn’t even Sunday.\n“Who knows,” She said back, “Maybe a late night prayer group or something? That place started going off the deep end ever since that first bout of lights. It’s been nothing but ‘End of the world this,’ and ‘Repent for your sins,’ that. I can’t even pretend to understand them or Rev. Proust anymore.” A few minutes later we weren’t even thinking about the church. We had just pulled onto Christian Light Road and were now looking for the farm house Billie had been telling me about. The problem was that there were quite a few farms that had gone bankrupt over the last two decades, each one indistinguishable from the last.\n“I have an idea,” I told Billie. I turned on my car radio and tuned it to an FM radio station. Some oldies channel playing The Kinks “Village Green.” It wasn’t long after that that Ray Davies nostalgic harmony was suddenly replaced by the low hum of garbled static and high pitched clicking. This happened just as we approached a particularly destitute house with a single sagging willow tree in the front yard. “This is the one!” Billie screamed. She then in her own method of rational thinking decided that the best way to approach the house would be to shut of the headlights, drive past the house for about fifty or so feet, barrel turn into the opposite lane, drive back towards the house, jerk the car right off of the road, and park my goddamn ’69 pine green Dodge Charger behind a corn silo. As we got out of the car, I told Billie how she’s one of my closet mentally challenged friends.", "“Suck my dick.” She giggled as she popped the trunk.\n“You can’t afford it. Anyway what’s the plan?” I pulled the gas can from the trunk. “Are we going to knock on the door like asshole scouts trying to sell asshole flavored cookies, or are we just going to throw eggs until old man Jenkins chases us off with the hose?” Billie opened up her guitar case.\n“Um, I was thinking more along the lines of murder by death.” From her case, Billie pulled out what I assume to be an intentional disregard for standard Geneva Convention protocols. “This,” Said Billie while loading a couple of shells, “is a Franchi SPAS-12, ten rounds, mounted flashlight, and an industrial grade suppressor. It’s probably the best tactile shotgun ever manufactured in Italy. They stopped making them a few years ago because the U.S. banned it from import. Don’t ask me how I got this one, but let’s just say I didn’t follow the two week waiting period.”\n“Dandy,” I said.\nWe moved quickly towards the house, crouching low to the ground as we snaked through the tall weeds. It may have been dark, and the fog was still coming in thick, but we left nothing to chance. Between the two of us, we’ve seen enough horror movies to know better. When we finally reached the side of the house Billie pressed herself up against the cracked siding and motioned for me to look in through one of the windows. I gave her the universal gesture for anal fisting, which to us was code for, “something spooky is going to pop out and bite my face off.” Billie then gave her shotgun a pump, signaling that she did indeed have a shotgun. With that sound logic in mind, I carefully pressed my hands against the sweating glass, peering into darkness. I could just barely make out the vague shapes of furniture, but nothing much else. Scraps of paper and trash seemed to litter what I could see of the floor, and there appeared to be a sofa of some sort, and absolutely no movement what so ever. A static environment if I ever saw one. I lowered myself from the window, giving Billie the thumbs up before picking up the kerosene. Billie moved up to me, and in a low voice whispered that the hitchhiker apparently smashed through a window during his escape, and we should look for a welcome mat to bypass the broken glass. “Cool,” I whispered back. “But shouldn’t we try the front door first?”\nWe did, and as luck would have it, it was unlocked. I eased open the door doing my best to keep it from creaking, Billie standing behind looking down her iron sights into the shadows of the house. Nothing jumped out at us from that still darkness, yet we expected it to occur at any moment. Just jitters I told myself as we moved in. I shut the door, locking it from the inside just as Billie flicked on her flashlight, I did the same. Instantly the room was illuminated by the white cones of light, revealing the living room set up. There was indeed furniture in there, all of it covered in plastic blue tarps. Interestingly enough, besides the tarps and random bit and pieces of trash that scattered the floor, the place actually looked pretty well lived in, except for the terrible smell that is. Kind of like roadkill and patchouli oil it seemed like. We did our best to ignore it as I wandered the room while Billie searched every corner. I held onto the kerosene as I perused the bookshelves along the back wall. I was just tucking away a dusty copy of the complete works of Alistair Crowley when Billie tiptoed to my shoulder.\n“Besides that damn stink wafting around, I think this room is fine,” I whispered. “So I guess that leaves everywhere else.”\n“How about over there?” She asked, nodding her head towards her right. I followed her gaze to a door at the end of the center hallway, a door with several deadbolt locks and covered in smudged handprints of varying sizes. I had never been here before, but I could just sense that this door in question led to something awful. “Somewhere besides that.” I said back. Billie nodded in agreement.", "We moved quietly down the hall and followed an archway into what I presumed to be a dining room. I say dining room because of the tasteful china cabinet, the large rectangular wooden table, the well placed chairs, and the two people sitting at either end of said table. Two people sitting perfectly still, absolutely motionless in the dark. Our flashlights landed on the one in the back first. It was a man wearing a brown sweater vest, and he was smiling. I stopped walking mid stride with one foot still hanging in the air. Instantly my mouth went dry, and I could feel my blood rush deep into my muscles. My stomach cramped up, sweat rolled down my forehead. It’s called a fear response, and it only happens when your limbic system knows that some serious shit is about to go down. Billie’s brain took a different approach, in the form of two shots fired off in rapid succession. One in the chest of the dark shape on the far side, another through the wooden backrest of the close one, each round muffled down to a demons whisper. She then walked around the table to get a better look at her handy work. I followed suit, feeling that it was safe, but nervous. Neither one had made so much as a peep.\n“Oh shit, Stephan, come look at this.” She said, pointing her gun at the female stranger. I did look, and I gotta say that it was a weird sight to behold. The woman wearing a blue dress (also smiling despite having been shot through the sternum) had these, growths I guess, coming out of her exit wound. Upon closer inspection I realized that they were polyps, but not like the kind I’ve seen so far. These ones had tiny little tendrils that seemed to be wiggling around lazily, almost as if they were being pushed by a gentle breeze. Weirder still, her skin was a shade of pale blue normally reserved for the recently deceased. I walked over to the man at the end of the table. He had the same thing going on. Billie noticed my expression.", "“What do you think this is?” She asked, never lowering her gun.\n“First of all, these people were already dead before you shot them, I’d say for at least six hours, based on their stiffness. As for those things,” I pointed at the wriggling little maggot hairs, “are probably what happens when the polyps are left to their own devices, which I’m going to assume is a bad thing.”\nBillie wasn’t saying anything. Actually, she was looking around the room some more, with a worried look on her face. “So my suggestion is that we torch this place now before anyone else comes snooping around.” I popped the cap of off the kerosene can and started pouring it around the table, making sure to splash a little on the smiling corpses. “Um, Billie, what’s wrong?”\n“The hitchhiker mentioned two kids.” She said to me, her voice uncommonly serious.", "It was probably just a coincidence that we heard the noises at just that moment, but fate still decided that the next sequence of events should not go in our benefit.", "It started out as just a murmur coming from upstairs. Billie and I heard it at the same time, and we promptly shut off our flashlights as we moved into a corner. We didn’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves then we already had. We had to be very, very quiet. I shouldn’t have to explain why. The noises from upstairs seemed to be that of laughter, children’s laughter specifically, followed by the pitter patter of small bare feet scampering across a hardwood floor. Billie and I in that corner, crouched in near total darkness, we followed the sounds across the length of the ceiling. They seemed to be moving towards the staircase. I thought the time seemed right get the hell out of there; maybe dip out through the kitchen or something. I was just about to follow through with that plan when Billie pushed me back with her left arm.\n“Stay here near the kitchen door.” She whispered with her hand cupped over my ear. “I’ll move to the other side. That way we can ambush them.” I was about to point out how stupid that sounded when I heard the clicking little giggles move into the living room. Yeah, clicking little chirps and giggles, a very unnatural vocalization that in even the best of circumstances, unsettling. It was about the same moment that I realized how truly unarmed I was that I saw them.", "From what little moonlight fell into the room, I could tell that they appeared at first to be children, small children. But the rest was anything but a normal child. Spindly little things they were, pale gaunt things with long lanky arms outstretched from their tiny bodies, the joints bent at odd angles as they probed the dining room chairs and walls. The whole time making that terrible childish laughing noise intertwined with unearthly clicking. I held my breath. I felt like vomiting.", "One of them jumped onto the table top, its long fingers prodding at one of the worm filled corpses. The other was sniffing at the air. I wondered what Billie waiting for…", "What happened next was somewhat of a blur. Even now I have trouble remembering what the exact orders of events were exactly, but I do remember with distinct clarity that it all started with a cell phone. Mine, to be precise. It started ringing in my coat pocket, immediately drawing the attention of both of the freaky little bastards. I remember Billie flicking her flashlight to life, and how the one standing on the table spat blood into my glasses, followed by Billie pumping another round into her chamber. I remember the high pitched screeching they made, and how one tried to tackle me as I fell over fallen chair. I remember cracking the bulb of my flashlight across its wide open jaw, and pushing it into the glass case of the china cabinet. I remember Billie firing off two more rounds into the taller of the two, despite how it barely seemed to notice the gaping wounds it was sustaining. I seem to recall that I kicked the rest of the kerosene across the room into the short hallway before setting one of my Burnswick Funeral business cards on fire. I remember heat, and light, and the screaming, and the sound of something large and angry slamming itself against the basement door, the door with the locks and handprints. I vaguely remember Billie yelling to me over the madness as she dragged me into the kitchen and trying to slam the door shut onto something thin and pale, an arm. Although everything that happened in the span of those few seconds seemed to melt into one single moment of absolute carnage, one thing I will never forget were the long white tentacles snaking into the inferno of the dining room, following us all the way up until the door finally closed. I threw a dirty microwave through the kitchen window.", "We ran from the blaze as fast as we could, the cool wet air a well appreciated relief from the heat and smoke. It wasn’t dark anymore. The tall grass reflected the orange fires from behind, everything tinted in the colors of violence. We got into my car just we heard the roaring. The drive back into town was quiet for the first few minutes. When Billie finally caught her breath, she spoke up.\n“We didn’t learn a damn thing tonight did we?”\n“I would say not.” I said, still choking. The beard stubble on the left side of my face had been burnt away. The skin felt hot.\n“Thanks for setting everything on fire before we could look around for anything useful.” Billie mentioned a few moments later.\n“I’m sorry,” I replied. “After my phone went off I just sort of panicked.” My words reminded me to see who was trying to call me at five in the morning. I pulled it from my pocket, scrolling through the recent call list. It was Terry.", "We got to Billie’s house a few minutes later. When we got inside, we saw that Terry was standing still, breathing heavily. He was holding a bloody hammer in his right hand, as he stared at the dead man lying still on the floor, the hitchhiker. Leading from the back of his neck was a trail of bloody mucus that ended at a small fleshy thing flatted into the hardwood.\n“What the hell happened here?” Billie asked in exasperation.\n“I don’t know. He just started freaking out and chased me around the house with a box cutter. I didn’t see much of a choice.” Terry mumbled out. “Then that thing popped out.”\nI looked at the little crushed worm into the floorboards.\n“I thought you said he didn’t eat any polyps.” I directed towards Billie.\nShe shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I guessed he lied. So much for the kindness of strangers.”\nI checked my wristwatch. It would be dawn soon. As I glanced from Billie to Terry and back to Billie, I thought back on everything that happened tonight, trying itemizing a list for the sake of context; Public intoxication, reckless driving, breaking and entering, possession of unregistered firearms, arson… would one more crime really make a difference?", "I walked into Terry’s kitchen to put on a pot of coffee just as he asked me what I thought we should do next. I took my time coming up with the right words.\n“Terry, I’m going to need you to move the blonde kid into your bathtub.” I dictated while measuring out the coffee grounds. “Billie, look around for some trash bags and maybe a jug of ammonia. Oh, and Terry, would you mind telling me where you keep your hacksaw?” Billie and Terry gave each other a nervous glance before getting to work. I followed them into the bathroom a few minutes later, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a sharp serrated saw blade in the other, the whole time trying to think up a good excuse for my boss as to why I will have come into work so early to run the cremator.", "I just kept telling myself that death was a natural thing.", "Credit To – Stephan D. Harris", "", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Noisy Portrait	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-noisy-portrait/	7.14	February 27, 2013	301	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "Your mother had been sick for years. You never did know exactly what was wrong with her though. Countless doctors had examined her and all had to admit she was suffering some something they had never seen before. However, even though they could not pinpoint the disease itself, they all seemed to agree on one thing: it was terminal. Eventually, this mysterious illness would take your poor mother’s life.", "You can remember back when your mother fist got sick. It happened after visiting family in a small town in West Virginia. The trip had ended abruptly when your aunt became furious with your mother for accidentally breaking a picture of your grandmother. You never did understand why your aunt had become so upset, it was just a photo. Regardless, your family had to pack up and leave that next morning. On the drive home, your mother seemed to be dealing with some allergies. Assuming it was just some of the local fauna getting to her, no one thought much of it. Everyone assumed it would clear up shortly after returning home, but it never did. Weeks, and then months after returning, your mother’s new “allergies” were still steadily growing worse. It was always a slow, but she never got even a little better even for a day. Back before it really got bad she always used to joke that “those darn allergies must have moved in and loved me so much they decided to stay and take over!” Eventually though, she stopped joking about her sickness. It took so much out of her that it made her angry and bitter. She would snap and yell at you for the smallest things, and she would become exhausted and just fall asleep at random times. A few times you even saw her fall asleep while walking. She would be walking one way, then her eyes would slowly close as she drifted off in another direction before jerking awake. You tried to help make things easy on her as much as you could, but there wasn’t much you could do. Every time she yelled you tried to remind yourself that it was just the disease and exhaustion talking so you wouldn’t start yelling back and just make her feel even worse.", "The disease affected more than your mother though. Her slow deterioration began to wear out the rest of the family emotionally; as she grew worse, you watched your father and little brother grow worse as well. You felt yourself crumbling too, but you did your best to fight it and pretend like nothing was wrong. Eventually, it became too much for your father. You woke up one Thursday morning to find a note from him explaining that he couldn’t stand to be in the house with your mother anymore. He said he had left for good and taken your brother with him. The note didn’t say where he intended to go. He was gone, and you were left to care for your mother alone.", "For years, it was just the two of you. Every day she continued to worsen, and every day you fought harder and harder to keep from breaking as your father had. Every week more and more doctors saw her and gave you the same clueless, useless answers. It was something they’d never seen before. It worked in unusual ways they couldn’t understand. It didn’t make any sense. It was terminal.", "It was terminal. There was always that. Eventually, you gave up on doctors completely. Your mother was almost entirely bedridden by this point, and there was nothing they could do anyways, so why should you waste what time you had left with them? Instead, you stayed home everyday to care for her. In those brief moments when you were not occupied by some household chore, you would sit and try to read. You never did process very many of the words anymore, but it was easier to deal with books than it was to deal with television. Besides, if the tv had been on you might not be able to hear your mother when she faintly called out for you because she needed something. As the months dragged on, those calls became much more frequent and much more faint.", "In those final few years, there seemed to be only one thing you could do to bring a tiny smile to your mother’s face: take her picture. She had always loved having her picture taken, even as a little girl. You could remember all the stories she and your grandmother had told you about how she would run to anyone she saw with a camera and beg to have her picture taken, even if the person was a complete stranger. As she grew older, she obviously learned not to approach random strangers for photos, but she never lost her love for being photographed. So, every single day you would get out the camera and go into her room. You would sum up all the cheerfulness you could as you raised the camera and called to her, “Time for your picture, Mom! Say cheese!” That faint smile you came to know all too well would slowly crease her face, the flash would go off, and then you would put the camera away until the next day.", "One evening, while your eyes were sliding over the words of a book whose title you could not even remember, you realized you hadn’t heard your mom call for you in a while. Concerned that you had zoned out and missed her call, you put the book down to go check on her. As soon as you entered her room, your heart dropped. She was dead. After all these years, the disease had finally claimed her life. In a small way, you were glad because she no longer had to suffer, but that did not change the immense sense of loss you felt. Now you were completely alone.", "With your mother gone, you had no idea what to do. For years, taking care of her had consumed your life, but now she was gone. Unsure of what to do, you remained in the house alone most days, still running your eyes through books without ever realizing what you were reading. A day or two after your mother was buried, you remembered the camera and all the photographs you had taken. You printed out that final picture, dug out an old picture frame from a dusty box in the attic, and hung it above the headrest of her bed. You stood there and cried for hours after you first hung it; you couldn’t believe she was gone. Some nights, while you were “reading,” you even thought you could hear her faintly calling you as before. You would close your book and start to stand before it would hit you again–she was gone, you were just imagining things. Most of the time, this realization sent you into another uncontrollable fit of tears.", "One night, as you were making your way to your bedroom, you thought your heard your mother’s voice again. You knew that you were imagining things, but still you decided to go and look into her room. On your way, you absentmindedly grabbed the camera and took it with you. You poked your head into her room like you always had, but this time you looked up to her picture instead of her bed. Noticing the camera in your hands, you brought it up to your face, aimed it at the photo on the wall and said, “Time for your picture, Mom! Say cheese!” choking on every word as the tears began to well up in your eyes. Just before you took the picture, you almost thought you could see the smile forming on her face again, and that was when you lost control completely. In a fit of tears, you threw the camera to the far side of the room where it bounced harmlessly off a pillow. You dove onto your mother’s bed and ripped the picture from the wall and hurled it into the ground. As the glass shattered and spread across the carpet, you fell down on top of it on your knees, snatching up the now-broken frame. Cutting your hands on the bits of glass that remained in the frame, you tore the picture out and began ripping it to shreds, sobbing. You spent that night curled up on the carpet crying, clutching firmly to the shreds of the photo.", "In the following days, you returned to your habit of attempting to read. Everything seemed normal, or at least as normal as things had been since your mother had died. However, you no longer thought you heard her voice. You guessed that your tantrum with the photo had served as some sort of release to help you accept her death, and that that had gotten the illusion of her voice out of your mind. You were extremely grateful for that, as it was easily the worst part of your suffering. Now the only suffering you had to cope with was some minor new allergies.", "Credit To – SnoringFrog", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Empty	https://www.creepypasta.com/empty/	7.64	February 26, 2013	302	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Silence is not quiet, its loud. It’s a deafening roar.", "I’ve experienced quiet before; I always start work at 4am. Quiet is the gentle hum of the street lamps. Its the first songs of the birds, the last scream as the foxes return to their warrens, the warm caress of the wind, a million things you don’t notice. Silence is none of these things. Silence is the absence even of this. Silence demands to be noticed.", "I was walking to the office when I felt it. It was a crisp morning and I hadn’t put on a jacket. The cold started in my arms but it was slowly seeping into my torso. I grabbed my arms, kept my head down and walked on. I wasn’t running late, I wasn’t far from home and I could easily have gone home and got a jacket, a coat or a jumper but I felt like I couldn’t. I didn’t know why at first, I just knew to keep my eyes directly in front and keep walking. One foot in front of the other.", "It was dark. I could make out silhouettes, dark blue shapes in the grey, but it wasn’t right. No street lamps, nothing from the windows or the cars surrounding me. Nothing but the slow, creeping glow of the morning.", "After 15 minutes, I found myself at the bottom of the street. I could see my office building, but the lobby was dark. I thought perhaps there was a power cut, and started making my way there ore quickly. As I was walking, my footsteps seemed to get louder and louder. They echoed more and more, ricocheting around me. I felt my heart getting faster and faster, the air colder and colder. Before I knew it, I was running.", "I reached the wide, glass doors. I pushed, but they didn’t budge. My fingers felt their way along to the cracks in the glass, up to the lock. I fumbled in my pocket for my card. I felt it pressed against my leg, pulled it out. I swiped it in the mechanism. I heard a click, but nothing happened. I sliced it up and down, over and over. Of course it wasn’t going to work, but admitting that would mean staying out here, and I wasn’t ready to do that.\nI pressed my face up to the glass, cupping my hands around my eyes. I darted my eyes left and right. Nobody in sight, not even the janitor or the guard. I stared until it started to hurt my eyes, but there was nothing. Not a sound.", "I slumped to the floor. The sun crept higher and higher. The day brought a small relief. It was warmer, at least, and being able to see up and down the road felt a little better. But the stark shadows moved along the floor all too noticeably and the buildings seemed emptier than ever. The sky was clear blue- I must have sat there for an hour without seeing a single aircraft, a solitary cloud. The roads were clear of cars, the buildings were empty.", "After a while I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled home. In the light of day, the city seemed even more desolate than ever. The buildings were all a uniform shade of dull. The black roads seemed to stretch forever. I’d never made this walk during the day. I always came in so early, and went home so late. The city seemed strange and alien. Everything was grey. I’d never noticed before, but the whole world is grey. The buildings, the roads. The silence was always right behind me.", "The journey took longer than it normally did. Or perhaps the gaunt quiet and the chillin air made it seem longer. I shivered a little as I stumbled down the street to my apartment building. I opened the door and climbed the stairs, the same as I ever had. But even this felt different.", "The gentle buzz of electricity, the muffled voices from the television sets, the distant screaming of arguing families whose names I’d never asked- I missed them.", "I reached my front door. I leant on it as I put a hand into my pocket, but the door swung open as soon as I touched it.", "My heart stopped.", "I stepped slowly in. The room was freezing. I looked left and right. Nothing had moved. I ran into the living room. The TV, my PS3, my laptop- they were all still there. I breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to go into my bedroom. The door was slightly open, and in the thin crack of light I could see a dark outline.", "It moved. Thin, white eyes caught the light, and I knew it was looking at me. It seemed startled. I ran towards it, blind anger replacing the fear. As I entered the room, I caught only a flash of red as it leapt through the window.", "I looked down into the street, caught a glimpse of what seemed like a naked, sunburnt man disappearing down a side alley. I looked around my room. Again, nothing had been moved, and for a moment I thought I could stop worrying. Then I saw the footprints.", "Blood. From my window, all around my room and then back to the window. Thick, dark, red footprints. I felt my stomach heave, my throat bulge. I turned and left the room.", "I went back to the living room, shutting all the doors behind me. I didn’t go back in that room. I went to the closet, took out a baseball bat I hadn’t used since I was twelve and a Swiss Army Knife my dad had bought me.", "I slumped into a chair and shook. Sweat was rolling down my forehead, my hair was itching something terrible. I scratched and scratched. The itch always moved as soon as I scratched. I chased it around my body until every inch of my skin had been touched. My breathing and my heart had returned to normal, and I felt I’d calmed down a bit.", "I was hungry. I went to my kitchen but, naturally, it was empty. I ate all my meals at work or at the mall around the corner.", "I took a deep breath and made up my mind to leave. The stairwell was empty and silent, but this time I couldn’t help but notice the cold. My heart was a machine gun. I found myself running down each flight, stopping and peering at every corner.", "Eventually I reached the street. I stopped to catch my breath and scratch my arms, which were itching again. I stepped out into the road and walked towards the small store that was just round the corner.", "I forced myself to look down the alley the intruder had ran down. There was a small ammount of blood leading that way, but nothing like the footprints in my room.", "I kept walking, but just as I looked up, I saw him. He was darting across the road a few hundred feet away from me. I ran after him, my fingers locking round the bat.", "I caught a glimpse in the corner of my eye, the other way this time. There was more than one. I just ran, kept going down the road and tried to ignore them. They weren’t coming towards me.", "I ran and ran until I came straight into the door of the store. It wouldn’t open, naturally, but I smashed the glass with my bat without thinking. I stepped through and made my way to the snacks. I was so hungry, I couldn’t wait for anything to cook. I opened up a packet of Doritos. Inside was a fine, white dust. I poured it out and opened another. The same. I ripped packets and packets of chips, cookies and candy bars from the shelves, but they were all the same. Nothing inside but dust.", "My insides were twisting themselves into knots from the hunger. I found myself coughing, doubling over on the floor.", "My head was spinning. What the fuck was going on? Where was everybody? I coughed and choked until I spat up blood. My skin was itching all over. I scratched and scratched until my nails felt thick with my own skin. I stopped, knelt on the floor and stared down. My breathing returned to normal, my heart slowed down until all I could hear was the silence. The silence, and a scratching noise.", "I stopped, listening incredulously. It was the first sound I’d heard all day that I didn’t make myself.", "I crawled toward the noise. It was coming from the other side of the store, but I tried to stay low and quiet. As I got closer, I could make out a throaty, wheezing breath as well. I came around the corner onto the aisle adjacent to the sound and saw footprints, blood like the ones in my bedroom.\nSuddenly the scratching stopped. I looked up, towards the sound of breathing. I rose to my feet, clutching my bat tighter than ever.", "Suddenly, I saw someone run towards the door. I chased after them, got a good look as they crashed out into the street.", "They weren’t human. Not quite. The body was the same, but there was no skin. Just muscle, and blood. Blood everywhere, dripping from the fingertips, pooling on the floor. The figure stopped just outside and looked back at me. I could see the round, bulbous eyes in their red cavities. There were no eyelids. I took a step forward and it stepped back, shaking its head. I took another step and it turned and bolted away from me. I walked out into the street but I couldn’t see it anywhere. Just endless, silent emptiness.", "I dropped to the floor.", "The sun was high above me.", "I don’t know how long I sat there. Nothing moved. The sun crept along the sky, the shadows swung along the floor.", "I kept scratching at my arms. I didn’t even notice them bleeding. As the sky grew darker, it got colder and colder, but I didn’t feel like moving. At some point I must have fallen asleep because suddenly the sky was the dull orange of early morning. I shivered, sat up and looked out into the inky darkness. Over the street, I saw them. A line of humanoid figures, their round, unblinking eyes staring.", "My heart jumped into my mouth. I sat and stared back, scratching an itch on my wrist. They weren’t moving. Nothing was moving. It was cold but I was sweating. My entire body was itching. I looked down at my body. My clothes were red from my own blood. I ripped them off.", "When I looked up, they were still there, but one of them was walking towards me. As it got closer, I could see it more clearly. It was like the other one, all muscle and bone and blood, like a biology class illustration.", "It stopped a few yards away and stood still, staring at me like before.", "I was too scared to move. I was cold, and itching more than ever. I barely even noticed I was naked. I just kept scratching, all over my skin. When the itching stopped, I’d be able to stop moving. Then maybe they’d leave me alone. I was tearing into myself, ripping bits off. It was painful, but it was a good pain. It set me free.", "Credit To – Luke Summerhayes", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Systelien Specter	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-systelien-specter/	9.03	February 25, 2013	302	[ "Beings and Entities", "Video Games and Gaming" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Video Games and Gaming" ]	[ "Back in May of 2010, my best friend, Andy, and I wanted to make a video game that we thought was going to change virtual reality gaming and the horror genre forever. We were both out of the university, me with a degree in computer programming and him with digital art design. Both of us were avid gamers. I think we played a bit of just about everything: racing, JRPG’s, MMO’s, sports, you name it. We wanted to make a game unlike anything you could get coming from overseas. You could call it an ambitious goal for a couple of aspiring indie gamers, but both of us were ambitious guys.", "Andy was a big fan of horror and was actually the first to come up with the idea. We had heard of the four-dimensional theaters that were being introduced in places like Korea and London, where you weren’t just watching a movie, but feeling it and smelling it. If the movie was set in a pine forest, there were triggers that would release the scent of pine to the audience. Likewise, if the characters were standing on the windy deck of a ship, fans would start blowing to mimic the conditions of the movie in the theater. All of it was to create a more realistic, interactive experience for the viewer and we thought it would be awesome to try to implement that with a 4D game.", "Obviously, we didn’t have the manpower to make an entire game by ourselves. We were in a lot of debt because of school and wouldn’t have been able to afford the virtual reality hardware in our wildest dreams. That, and we had no idea how to develop the technology needed to create the 4D gaming experience. Throughout the following summer, we networked like crazy, pitching our ideas to different developers, both indie and big-time. There was interest, but the 4D concept was still very much in development and no one was sure they wanted to invest time and resources in it without the assurance that it was going to hit off.", "I won’t bore you with the details of how it happened, but we finally hit a breakthrough in September when an independent company called Systelien contacted us after our attempts to pitch the idea to them. They thought it had potential and were interested in on-boarding us as writers and programmers. The company itself would take the rights for the game, of course, and there would be a team that would make the final decisions during all stages of development. It was still more than we could have ever hoped for.", "There was a team of 150 people, a third of who were hardware developers. The “controller” was built into a padded, inclined chair, with a minimalist headset that fits around the players’ eyes and ears. The joystick and buttons could be swapped on the arms to accommodate if the player was left-handed or right-handed. Really high-tech, right? Where the money was really sunk was in the environmental simulators and the sensors and nodes that would be attached to the player’s body to monitor their physical status.", "Like I said, the game was meant to be a horror game. We settled on the story of an unnamed character going into a haunted mansion to get rid of evil spirits and getting stalked by a demon. The most clichéd plot and setting you could think of, but that was what we were going for. We wanted something that would easily be associated with fear. The idea was that the demon fed off fear and would find you more easily if you were afraid. First, it would scare and drive the character crazy and then it would kill him/her.", "The monitors attached to the player analyzed the physical signs that the player was afraid (rapid heartbeat, dilated pupils, harsh breathing, clammy or sweaty skin, etc.) and use that information to determine how aggressively the demon would act. You could think of it as a social experiment; you could see how well a person would stay calm under pressure. Theoretically, a completely calm person could make it through the entire game without much danger, but the scares and the atmosphere wouldn’t let you go through the first level without making you anxious.", "The real fun started once the demon came after you. We wanted to keep it subtle. No jump scares. That was cheating the player out of the experience. If you think about it, people with real paranormal experiences never report a demon breaking through a glass window and going for your throat. They report brushes against the skin, whispering in the ears, and a loud sound in the distance. Even tingling or electrical sensations.", "Those were the kinds of things we recreated. We programmed the system to deliver these audio and sensory cues when the player reached a certain level of anxiety. The more scared you were, the more scares you received. At the beginning of the game, you might hear heavy breathing or footsteps behind you. You might even feel cold spots as you navigated the mansion. As you progressed and became tenser, you might feel a grip on your arm (from a blood pressure-like cushion on the chair that tightened around the muscle) or a hiss directly in your ear along with the feeling of breath. It was elaborate and it took forever to produce, but when they hooked you in, it was amazing.", "I had the privilege of being one to test it as it was being produced. They put me in the chair, turned off all the lights, and would play the game through the headset as well as project the images you were seeing onto a wall so that the team would see it too. The graphics were realistic they got the rooms of the mansion down to the last detail.", "About a year and a half after the sensors were developed and implemented into the system, we started looking for beta testers. We started advertising in magazines and message boards for people to come in blind and play the game, giving any criticism or reporting any glitches they experienced. The majority of the feedback we received was positive and, after several revisions, we could safely say that we had a successful project.", "Of particular note were the reports from the beta testers in which they claimed to get the feeling that someone was in the room with them or that they were getting tingling or hot/cold sensations in parts of their bodies where the nodes were not attached. The room where the chair and the interface were located was kept clear, aside from the player, as often as possible. The team was separated from the room by a one-way mirror. We would have been able to see if anyone was in the room apart from the player and in nine out of ten cases when this was reported, there was no one (the other 1/10 were when a technician was coming in to check the interface).", "There were times when we would disable and re-enable certain audio and sensory simulations to further test which ones gave more stimuli than others. During one playthrough, the player might have the cold spots and then during the next, those would be disabled. We never told the players which ones were activated and which were not. The strangest cases were when someone playing the game for the first time would report a cue when it was clearly disabled.", "In one particular case, a middle-aged woman reported her hair being tugged gently. I can tell you right now: that had not been programmed into the game at that point in time. It was an odd occurrence, but one that could have easily been chalked up to the imagination. Actually, we assumed that most of the cases like this were due to the power of suggestion. We just cautioned the rest of the beta testers not to talk about what they went through so that the people coming in could get as authentic an experience as possible.", "As tends to happen in these situations, people started spreading rumors. Some of my favorite rumors were the ones that made the Systelien staff out to be cultists who were secretly sacrificing the beta testers to the demon portrayed in the game. I have no idea how that one held up as long as it did, since there were absolutely no reports of injuries on- or off-site and every single one of the testers came out of the building alive. The internet and gossip do strange things to people, I guess. However, rumors like that were starting to give Systelien a bad reputation. We decided it was time to bring in the media to defeat some of these rumors. We hadn’t wanted to have reporters before for fear that other gaming companies would try to copy our methods, but now seemed like as good a time as any.", "We got several offers and wound up taking one from a popular gaming magazine. The reporting team came in and interviewed us about the games and the 4D techniques used. We used the opportunity to show them around the building and debunk the rumors about animal and human sacrifice. It was actually pretty funny; after the interview, the reporting team wanted to try out the game for themselves. They all had good things to say about it and when the article was published, donations and other requests for interviews began streaming in. Andy and I said we should have let the media come in sooner for all the benefits we were getting.", "The more we searched Systelien’s message boards, the more we started noticing threads crop up about people who claimed they were experiencing the things in the game after they had left Systelien and gone home. They were going through the same supernatural phenomena in their everyday lives as they had in the game. In every claim, they said that they would feel as though someone was getting very, very close to them, looking over their shoulders, and breathing down their necks. I guess that was one thing about the demon in the game that we had neglected to mention. It had no sense of personal space. The reports eventually involved both minor and violent poltergeist activity. And people would be going through this for days afterward. The reports helped to spread the word even more, but it didn’t help the persisting rumors that the testers were being possessed.", "The most popular thread where the reports were being archived affectionately called the demon causing these incidences the Systelien Demon or the Systelien Specter. I liked the Systelien Specter better.", "Then came the day when a young man, only 17-years-old (we’ll call him John), claimed that he wanted to file a lawsuit against us as he had been scratched during his time playing the game. As I remember it, John had been doing fine up until he had reached the basement of the mansion and then had screamed for us to let him out. The only evidence of the scratches was a set of pictures taken after he had exited the building. The scratches shown on the pictures were deep and red, clearly not something that had been dealt by a human. Maybe by a machine, but an inspection of the chair revealed no sharp parts sticking out. The lawsuit was eventually dropped since there was no way to prove he hadn’t scratched himself prior to coming in. It’s not like we do a full body examination before sitting our testers down into the chair.", "It was at this point we decided to stop bringing in random beta testers and test the game ourselves for the last stages of development. I was one of the first to be strapped in. They had added so much stuff to the gameplay and so many more cues that I barely recognized it from the first time I had played. I remember going down the foyer staircase after exploring a series of darkened hallways lit by old Victorian-era lamps, feeling my palms sweat and the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The wind outside the mansion had been howling for the last half hour and it sounded like someone was whistling a funeral march.", "I paused on the stairs to look at the windows, searching for any weird textures needing to be fixed, when I felt a tingling along my spine on my upper back, like someone was pressing his or her chest against my back. It wasn’t just in the game; I could feel the press in reality. I reached up and felt only the chair. The thing that really set me off, though, was the voice that spoke my name in my ear. It was whispered and very clear, no mistaking it for the wind. I spun the camera around, though I knew there would be nothing to see. The demon had always been invisible. Now I knew why some of our testers had joked about feeling violated while playing.", "I just assumed Andy had played a joke on me, but he swore up and down that he didn’t put any coding in the game for the demon to say the player’s name. That would have been my department, not his. He just designed skins. Still, I remained convinced that someone was just having fun with me. There wasn’t even a place to input your name! Someone must have pre-recorded it.", "I played through the rest of the area and then headed home to file my report. It was another late night; I had been pulling the late shift for a couple of weeks as our deadline was drawing closer. We had been having decent weather until about 2 AM, when the wind picked up and the rain was coming down in buckets. Andy and I had come from the Midwest and were used to bipolar weather. I just worked on and paid it no mind.", "Until the power went out, anyway. I grabbed my flashlight, feeling all the anxiety from my time in the game returning. This was a different story, though, and I knew that. My house wasn’t haunted and I had never believed in ghosts for my entire life. My brain said it was ridiculous, but my pounding heart told a different story.", "I couldn’t help but feel every draft and hear every creak of the floorboards as I went down to the generator (which, of course, was in the cellar). The wooden steps lead me down into the darkness and I have to admit that, by the time I reached the concrete, I was considering just going back upstairs and burrowing myself into my bed. I forced myself to cross the floor to the generator and turn it on. Immediately, the back-up lights flickered on, casting a red hue over the dusty shelves and rusty tools on the workbench. So, now I got to be in hell, too.", "The way back wasn’t nearly as bad as the way down and I reminded myself that everything I had experienced in the game had been just that, in the game. There was nothing to worry about. The demon – the Systelien Specter, or whatever – was an enemy made out of ones and zeroes. It couldn’t do anything to me.", "I was halfway up the stairs (about at the same point I had been in the game when I had heard my name, actually) when I distinctly felt someone tightly grab my wrists. As in, squeezing-like-my-wrists-were-being-juiced tight. I screamed and dropped the flashlight, which went off on impact. There was no one there, but I still slapped at where I imagined the hand had come from and clamored up the stairs. I didn’t stop until I was out the front door and in my driveway, getting drenched and not caring. I whipped out my cell phone and punched in Andy’s number.", "He said he knew how I felt. During his test play through, he had accidentally backed his character into a fire since he had been so busy keeping an eye on the rest of the room. We had all laughed at the mistake, but he hadn’t mentioned the fact that after we had taken him out of the game, he had felt a burning in his lower calf. Later, when he looked at his leg after getting home, he discovered he had a first-degree burn right where his character had touched the fire. I drove to his house and looked at his leg myself. He had already spread ointment on the area and bandaged it up, but when he pulled it back, I was staring at a red and swollen burn wound.", "Out of morbid curiosity, I called the other members of our team who had tested the game that day. It was the same story all around. In the game, Jill had stood in front of a window that had shattered and then cut her hands while picking up the jagged pieces of a ceramic vase had suddenly fallen to the floor. Matthew’s character had been crushed by a falling bookshelf and then, when he had been getting into his car, his door had closed when he wasn’t ready and three fingers had been broken. I looked at my wrists again, where dark, purplish bruises were forming. These couldn’t be coincidences anymore. I didn’t know what was going on, but it wasn’t just a game anymore.", "The next day was a holiday, so everyone at Systelien was off. I invited anyone willing to go back to the game room to try and play through the game one more time. Andy and I had gone through the possibilities. The point of the entire game had been for the character to go into the mansion to exorcise the demon. They could do it by collected special candles and then lighting them in a circle in the attic of the mansion. After some other steps were done, the demons would be forced out of the house and everything would go back to normal. It had been a crazy night and at any other time, I thought we would have been crazy for discussing these things. We thought that maybe, by completing the game and, by extension, the ritual, we could stop whatever the hell was going on. After all, no one, to this day, had ever finished the game from beginning to end.", "The game was as complete as it was ever going to be. Andy volunteered to play, for which I was grateful. Maybe it was cowardly, but I didn’t want to be the one to go in. The room was frigidly cold as we attached the nodes. We threw a blanket over Andy to make sure he didn’t freeze. The rest of us (five, in total, not including Matthew, who had gone to the hospital to treat his hand) gathered behind the one-way glass to watch.", "It was eerie, watching his progress through the game. I knew all of those corridors so well, having labored over their game files for months. Yet, now, everything looked new, now that I was sure that I knew what the game was capable of. I watched Andy’s heart rate rise and fall on my monitor. His skin-temperature-analyzers went haywire as he rounded every corner. As was supposed to happen, he felt the demon close in when his fear spiked. But this time around, its interactions were low-key, almost subdued. I fought against my suspicion that it was just biding its time. The demon was made of ones and zeroes. Numbers can’t hurt anyone. I thought this even as I rubbed my bruised wrists.", "It took four hours for Andy to make it all the way through. He didn’t even take a bathroom break. He just wanted to get this done as much as we did. He crept through the halls, doing his best to keep calm despite the advances of the demon. He collected the six candles needed for the ritual and made his way up to the attic.", "Then, things started happening that were definitely not in the programming. The paintings and potted plants in the game began shaking and flying off the walls, clearly aimed for his character. In the safety of the monitoring room, two filing cabinets overturned before sliding across the floor and knocking down two staff members. Wires attached to the wall disconnected and sprayed sparks around the room. Grabbing a fire extinguisher, I prepared to extinguish any flames that cropped up.", "Andy had placed the candles on the floor of the attic and was using an old lighter to light them. He was able to get the fourth candle lit before he suddenly bucked in his chair, screaming for us to stop the game. When we rushed in, I saw his hands flailing, as though he was trying to tear off the nodes and sensors glued to his body. Maybe that was part of it, but when I got a closer look, I realized he was fighting with something invisible that was holding him down on the chair. His shirt and face had been slashed and blood dribbled from the wounds. I was afraid I was going to break his arm since I was pulling so hard to get him off the chair. Finally, we got him free and out of the room, slamming the door behind us. Andy’s character had already died and the ‘Game Over’ screen mocked us as we scrambled to call an ambulance.", "I didn’t sleep for the rest of the day and the following night as I waited in the hospital. Andy’s wounds were worse than we thought. There was a massive amount of internal bleeding that we hadn’t known about. The doctors tried to stem the blood loss with transfusions, but their efforts were for nothing. Andy passed away early in the morning.", "A week later, I saw a news special about the death and its connection to the game and Systelien. I couldn’t blame whoever had blabbed. The police blamed Andy’s death on the system malfunctioning, as though that could explain the scratches and the internal trauma. Our supervisors didn’t care. They ordered the project to be shut down and I was grateful. I never wanted to see that game again. The only way I was ever going back to the Systelien building was if that room was demolished and the chair dismantled. Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t have been surprised if anyone who tried to take it apart was attacked as well.", "I left the company when the announcement was made that the game would be discontinued. People on the forums expressed everything from disappointment to relief. The game was over.", "For weeks, I couldn’t stop glancing over my shoulder. I moved away from the town and the memories I had of Andy. My co-workers held a farewell party for me, despite the fact that they probably had the right to blame me for everything. They said that I had helped make a game that would never be forgotten by anyone who played it.", "That was all well and good, but I was desperate to forget and spent the rest of my life trying to do so. I was always keeping two eyes on the shadows and jumping at every little creak. There was this little fear that I would hear my name whispered in my ear again, which would mean that whatever I had created had followed me, and I never wanted to think about that possibility.", "The only thing I could do was try to sleep and ignore the times when I felt an invisible, clammy hand stroke my face.", "CREDIT: TheHootax", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Rain	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-rain/	7.94	February 24, 2013	302	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "It’s raining outside.", "I really hate the rain in this town. That’s all it ever does, is rain.", "Drop. Drop. Drop.", "I looked over to my right at the nightstand beside my bed. The clock read 3:40am. This always seems to happen. It rains so hard outside that the droplets eventually navigate themselves through the one crack in the roof above my bed.", "Drip. Drop. Drip. Each droplet forming a steady rhythm as it hits a section of my bed.", "I drag my legs over the side of my bed, slowly lowering myself to the cream carpet flooring. As I hop off my bed, the cage on the other side of my room begins to rustle and a little head pokes itself out from the tiny bars, squeaking and all. Nollie, my pet ferret, is dancing around in her cage at the sight of me being awake. I walk over to the giant black cage she sleeps in, and stare at her with a half-awake smile.", "“No, Nollie, it’s not play time now.”", "“Hisss.” she replied, in her normal bratty ‘I better have things my way!’ attitude.", "Drip. Drip. Drip.", "Walking back over near my bed, I reached into my nightstand dresser and pulled out a huge roll of checkered-print white and black duck tape. Examining the pink sheets on my bed, I determine where the water is getting in through my roof. I jump up onto the bed, un-rolling a section of the tape and ripping it off. Carefully I placed the ripped off piece onto the dripping hole, then threw the duct tape roll on the floor.", "“Huh.” I thought to myself, “Why are my bedroom window blinds open? I thought I closed those before I fell asleep..”", "Blowing it off, I kneeled down on my bed and closed the black blinds back over my window, only to catch a glimpse of how hard it actually was raining outside. There was roughly 3 inches of water off the ground – Not surprising in this town, really. The street outside was curved in, I lived in a cul-de-sac. I could barely see the house across the street through the darkness and rain. Just then my stomach let out a growl of anger.", "God, I need food if I’m ever going to be able to get back to sleep. I walked outside of my bedroom door, not caring if it slowly creaked open and made noise. I live alone, so why should the noise level matter? I began to walk down the long hallway leading to my living room, and eventually I found my way into the kitchen. Walking into the doorway, I reached to my right and flipped the light switch on. From where I was standing, you could see 2 windows. One to the right, clinging to the wall right over the kitchen sink, and one to the left and in front of me, being the back deck’s glass doors.\nLooking above me, I was a bit startled. I forgot I had a skylight in my kitchen, which makes sense because it never really stands out in the room. The only way to really notice it, is if you’re standing right under it. Raindrops were hitting the glass panes of the window quite hard; how did I not notice the sound before? Shrugging to myself, I walked over to my left and opened my pantry. Nothing inside of it really seemed to catch my eye due to the fact that all the food in it required a lot of time to cook. Letting out a heavy sigh, I turned back to the light switch and flipped the lights off.\nThe rain only got harder as I made my way down the hallway and back into my bedroom. Lightning and thunder had started up as I turned off my bedroom lights and sulked back over to my bed, defeated by the lack of quick and easy food I have. I pulled my bright pink Hello-Kitty covers over my neck and let out a heavy sigh, only to hear an angry rebuttal from my stomach. I turned to my left and looked at the bedside clock. 4:12am. Did it really take me that long just to go and check whats in my pantry? Jesus Christ, I must have listened to the rain longer than I thought. I closed my eyes and rolled over onto my right side, giving up on any thoughts of eating. The entire room was quiet except for the assault the rain was making on my roof, and of course Nollie’s squirming around and occasional hissing. I wasn’t ready for what for what I was about to see when I opened my eyes.", "I froze, and a cold sweat spread across my entire body. My eyes were looking directly outside the window in front of me, only to see an entity staring back. I use the word ‘entity’ because in no way was this thing human. It’s skin was pitch black, and had various stitches across it’s face. Where it’s eyes were supposed to be, there were two vertical gray stitches. A hole was right in the middle of its face, so tiny, so minute, most likely this things nose. It’s mouth was non-existent, only skin as black as the deepest depths of the ocean was there. Despite the fact that this thing had no eyes to stare with, I could still feel it’s gaze digging into my face. It’s head was so close to my bedroom window that the breath from it’s nose was fogging up the glass.", "I laid there, my gaze locked with the monster in front of me for what seemed like forever. I couldn’t even hear the rain anymore, I could only focus on it’s face, and it’s steady breathing against the window. I didn’t snap out of it until Nollie began to hiss violently. My head jerked back and looked at her, she was clawing at the cage bars, begging to be let out. I turned my head back around facing the window, and the creature was gone. No fog, no stitched eyes, nothing.", "Nollie never stopped hissing, but nonetheless, I closed my window’s blinds and laid on my back in the dark. My hands reached around beside me in the dark for ear plugs – the ones I only used for those nights when Nollie gets too hyper and decides to cause an earthquake in her cage.", "Was that thing just a trick my sleep deprived mind played on me? I couldn’t stop thinking about it’s face in my mind. The stitches, the never ending darkness of it’s skin, the constant sound of it’s breathing against my window. I can’t sleep like this!", "It took some time before my mind calmed down and finally decided that I’m crazy, and desperately need sleep. I decided to roll over on my right side, eyes closed again. When I opened them, … my blinds weren’t the only thing that were opened this time. My window was completely open.", "I stared, wide eyed at the house across the street in the darkness. That thing wasn’t there, staring at me. Taking the chance, I shot straight up in bed, and closed my window, making sure the lock was on. Still looking across the street, I noticed my neighbor who lived in the house across the street was looking at me through his window now. His face was twisted into some kind of horrific expression.", "Then I felt it.\nSteady, deep breaths, on the nape of my neck.", "I never heard it come into my room.", "Credit To – AuroraTainted", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Yellow Rain Fever	https://www.creepypasta.com/yellow-rain-fever/	8.64	February 23, 2013	302	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Dear Survivor-\nIf you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. It’s for the best.", "You see, about four or five days ago, a storm rolled in. Now, this in and of itself isn’t anything strange. The clouds and the rain though, they had a yellow tint to them. It smelled weird and tasted funny too, none of us could really nail down what it tasted like, and all we knew is that it was some sort of chemical or other.", "Now, the important thing to know is that we’re a small Hoosier farming community, maybe 1,500 or so people, so unless some radical has a grudge against corn and soybeans, I doubt it was a terrorist attack.", "Anyway, a few hours after that weird rainstorm started, people started getting violently sick. The ones affected couldn’t stop throwing up, there were reports of extreme nausea and even an onset of what they thought was tuberculosis, because the ones diagnosed had a bloody and agonizing cough.", "Authorities noticed a trend almost immediately after people started getting sick, in that it seemed only fairly weak people got ill. The sick, old, and young were the only ones who got sick with those violent symptoms. It retrospect though, they got the easy way out.", "People that were diagnosed with the illness, dubbed the Yellow Rain Fever, died just hours after getting sick. Some of the victims’ immune systems who were already sick just couldn’t handle the increased fever and vomiting, some were simply too weak to handle much of a sickness in the first place, like the old and the very young, and some actually died of blood loss due to the consumption like cough. But they all died shortly after getting ill.", "When people were nearing death, they started hallucinating, or what we thought were hallucinations at the time. They all saw these, dark, shadowy humanoid figures with glowing yellow eyes, lurking in dark corners or just inside unlit rooms.", "There were only three or four accounts of these figures, due to the fact that almost no one could speak in their final moments of the sickness. It was enough though, people with the same disease sharing the same hallucinations, it made almost everyone extremely paranoid, as common or shared hallucinations, they reasoned, meant a type of drug or chemical.", "After the reports came in of these shared hallucinations, the most paranoid of our population started barricading themselves in their homes. Said they were going to wait out the storm, literally and figuratively.", "When most of the initial victims had passed, we started seeing fairly normal people getting extremely sick. Healthy, middle aged people getting the same symptoms, and worse, some of the victims actually faced necrosis before their deaths. The second wave of people who were sick didn’t even make two hours. Same as before, there were several reports of people seeing those black, shadowy figures with the glowing yellow eyes, waiting in corners or dark rooms.", "Our small town was devastated at this point; we had lost two or three hundred people by now. And I was absolutely stricken with grief when my dear wife Muriel, may God rest her soul, was diagnosed with the Fever.", "By the time we had lost another 100 people, and the disease was announced to be contagious, we were quarantined by the CDC, and government agents were coming in to check out the town decked out in air-tight radiation suits, said they were trying to find the cause of the storm.", "Not even an hour after the agents came in, they evacuated. The thing is though; there was no story about this on the news. I don’t know what those CDC guys did, but apparently no one was able to contact the media. There was a mention of a flu epidemic in our town, and that’s it.", "My friend, Mark, came over to my house almost immediately after the report on the news aired.\n“A flu epidemic?” He yelled, absolutely enraged. “We’ve lost almost five-hundred people to this bastardized mix of symptoms from tuberculosis and food poisoning, and they say it’s the damn flu?” I tried to get him to calm down, but he wouldn’t have it. He said he was going to go get out of town, to try and contact the news, something, anything but staying here waiting to die.\nThe thing is, I kind of agreed with him, I’d much rather go out fighting rather than sitting around and praying not to get this damned fever. There was something in my gut telling me it would be a bad idea to try and get out. I told Mark that I was going to stay here for the time being, he said fine, that if I wanted to die here as a passive waste, that was my decision.\nSo Mark left in his truck to try and escape the quarantine. It was the last time I saw him alive.", "Things got progressively worse from there. First, the disease spread, there were reports of another five hundred people infected. Of course national news was worthless, but channel six, the local news, was running a Fever Watch. That’s how I got most of my information.\nAfter the next wave of reported infections, symptoms got worse again. Pre-death necrosis was a symptom of almost everyone with the disease at that point, not just an unlucky few. Victims also getting extremely paranoid as their illnesses progressed. Almost all of them were scared of the same thing, of the dark, shadowy figures with yellow eyes creeping in dark areas.", "Our whole town was in hysterics, people who had boarded up their homes early were envied. Looting and arson was widespread, our town was a chaotic symphony of anarchy.\nAs the disease spread, nearly seven hundred people had succumbed to the Fever. There were some really minor details that unnerved the living hell out of me, like how the infected started saying the figures were getting closer, not lurking in just pitch black areas anymore.\nI was mortified when Muriel, who had only had a slightly wet cough and a light temperature up until that point, started screaming about dark figures lurking in the corners.", "When the local news reported our population was nearing eight-hundred after only nine hours after the first yellowish storm cloud rolled in, I locked myself where I am now, in our cellar.", "Muriel’s already gone, those damned shadow men got her, and they ripped her throat out. Those news stories were bullshit and I know it, it was these fucking creatures that lurk in the dark that killed everyone. I know, because I’ve seen what they can do firsthand. Muriel’s lying upstairs in a puddle of her own blood because of those figures.", "They’re watching me now, with those hungry and greedy yellow eyes. They want me, I can see the dark desires, the urge to feed in their eyes when they stare at me. They’re sitting in the corners, where the light doesn’t reach, waiting for me to make one wrong move, to turn my back or fall asleep, well I’ll be damned if I get eaten by some God-forsaken monster.", "They think they have me, I can hear them now, their joyous whispers; they’ve seen my bloody cough. The beasts’ whispers are deafening now, they know I’m growing weaker. What they don’t know however, is that I’ve taken a lesson from Mark. I still have the power of choice. Do I want to go out in defiance, or sitting, waiting for the inevitable? I have to remember to pray to my dad, thank him for leaving me his revolver.", "They’re getting closer. I have a few minutes at most, they’re getting closer. At least I get to end this how I want it to end, not how they want it to.", "—", "Subject: FORWARD ALL; ADDENDUM, SITUATION REPORT 37-B\nTo: ALL\nFrom: ADMINISTRATOR PAIGE", "Message: Hello ladies and gentlemen, I’d first like to wish you all a Merry Christmas.", "Now, as you can see from the attached document, Project Ion Rain was a massive success. Only ten hours after the weapon was activated, our city of choice was almost completely eradicated. With initial reports saying that 95% of the population died due to disease,4% are clinically insane, and 1% having committed suicide, as you can see from the document above.", "Yes I know, there are ethical issues involved in this, why test Ion Rain on our own citizens? First off, the equipment involved to actually produce the deadly toxins from seemingly thin air are not carried around or smuggled easily. And it takes weeks of preparation; we simply don’t have the resources to smuggle this Project into an enemy country and keep the thing hidden.", "And the way I figure the situation, and the President agrees with me on this one, is that if we can blame this incident on a terrorist attack, we’ll have the backing of the public to invade whoever we decide to blame.", "Well, see you all on Monday, have a nice weekend.", "Sincerely, Paul Paige, Administrator of the Central Intelligence Agency.", "", "Credit To – Josh M.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Hidden Maize	https://www.creepypasta.com/hidden-maize/	7.19	February 22, 2013	302	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Dried husks scratched their arms as they squeezed through the narrow isles of corn. Finding the entrance was a miracle as the pathways are barely discernable from the rows of planted corn.", "Every year, Old Man Hanky builds a corn maze for the local kids, but hides the entrance. The farmer never had any children of his own and started the maze tradition as a way to bond with the neighborhood children. It was bragging rights in this town to find and complete Old Man Hanky’s maze before the corn is harvested.", "“Anna, you know how quick it gets dark now! This is taking too long.”", "“We have plenty of light and plenty of time. Besides, we can always follow someone else out.”", "“Who, Anna? We’ve been in here over an hour and I haven’t seen anyone, or heard anyone for that matter, in the last 45 minutes.”", "“We could always call Charlie. I’m sure he’d come find us and show us out.” Anna suggested.", "“I already tried calling him twice. He didn’t answer. I texted him and told him to call me back.”", "Anna looked around at the sea of corn stalks. It was impossible to tell where they’d already been and which direction was out.", "“Just climb on my shoulders and see if you can figure out which direction we should be going.”", "Sydney’s cheerleading skills were finally of practical use. She took a boost from Anna’s clasped hands and hopped onto her shoulders. Sydney could hardly see over the corn, but the smoke from the bonfire billowed as a beam of hope.", "“Anna, I can see the smoke from the bonfire. I know which way we need to go. And, I think I saw some corn moving. Maybe those people know the way out!”", "Harvest time was only a few days away. The girls did not want to be the only ones not to finish Old Man Hanky’s maze. Finding the entrance alone took hours, now if they could only find their way out. As they headed for the smoke, voices became audible. The other last minute maze goers must be nearby.", "“Hello! Do you know the way out of here?” Anna yelled.", "No response.", "“I do.”", "The meek voice materialized behind them with no warning. A small boy, no older than nine stood just inside the corn stalks staring at the girls.", "“Hi, there. We’ve been in here almost two hours. Can you help us get out?” Anna asked the boy, as Sydney shot her an angry gaze.", "“Sure. My daddy doesn’t like when I cheat. But, I like helping,” the boy chirped.", "“You’re a sweet little boy. Do kids get lost in here a lot?”", "“Yes. Most people get lost in our maze.”", "“Our maze? Is that why you know your way out so well?”", "“Yeah, my daddy built it. I helped. I like helping.” Looking more enthusiastic, the boy took Anna by the hand and started on his way.", "“Um, Anna,” unmoving, Sydney called out. “Can I have a word with you?”", "“What’s up, Sydney?”", "“That little boy just said his daddy built this maze. I thought this was Old Man Hanky’s farm. He doesn’t have any kids.”", "“So what? Maybe the kid and his dad helped out. What’s it matter anyway? He knows the way out.”", "“He gives me the creeps, Anna. Didn’t you notice how he came out of nowhere?”", "“Did you just watch Children of the Corn or something? You’re trippin’,” Anna smirked.", "“Whatever. I just want out of here.”", "Anna walked back to the boy and asked him to lead the way. He continued on silently, walking slowly and methodically. Without hesitation he made turn after turn down long stretches of barely visible pathways. The zigzagging seemed to take the girls further and further from the plumes of smoke still faintly visible in the darkening sky.", "“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Anna asked the boy. He looked over his shoulder with a demented smile.", "“Of course I do. We only have a little further to go. Daddy will be so glad to see you.”", "Sydney noticed the drops of sweat forming on Anna’s forehead and reached for her phone again. This time Charlie answered. She turned around and whispered into the phone.", "“Charlie, where have you been? We’re lost and need you to help us finish this maze. We’re following this kid and we’re not even close to being out. He’s freaking me out.”", "“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. What maze are you at?”", "“What do you mean, Charlie? Old Man Hanky’s maze. What else would I be talking about?” Sydney asked, shooting a confused look over to Anna.", "“Old Man Hanky has been in the hospital for a while now. He wasn’t able to do a corn maze this year.”", "Sydney quickly hung up her phone and turned around, but the boy was gone. Sydney turned and ran through the corn back where they came from, Anna at her heels.", "They ran until the cramps in their sides forced them to stop. Then they heard the boy’s voice again and saw his shadow just inside the corn like before.", "“You can run girls, I won’t stop you. But I know the way out, you’re the one who’s lost. Besides, Daddy doesn’t like when I cheat. He likes when you find him on your own, it’s more exciting that way.”", "Credit To – S.E. Helsinger", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Annie	https://www.creepypasta.com/annie/	8.67	February 21, 2013	302	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Annie ran away again the other night. It took me hours to find her in the park, going back and forth on the swings without a care in the world, like she had every right to be there. And she dyed her hair again, blonde this time. I didn’t want to make a fuss with all those people around, so I caught her on the backswing and dragged her home kicking and screaming like a lunatic. It was humiliating: I had to smile and shrug at all the people staring like it didn’t bother me.", "As soon as we were home, I sent Annie to her room. She just sat there on the bed, crying and crying. The way she carried on, I didn’t have the heart to yell at her for running away. I guess that’s the real problem, this lack of discipline. I’ve never been good at tough but fair. I’m always going too far one way or the other.", "Like a few months ago when she came at me with the kitchen knife. For a minute I really thought she was trying to hurt me, my own sweet angel. But afterward she just lay there in my arms so quiet, letting me stroke her hair and sing her a lullaby, like nothing had ever happened.", "But then there was that other time when she started messing around with my doll collection. They’re such fragile things, my dolls, and Annie was playing so rough like she wanted to break them. I love those dolls: they remind me of when everything was easier, when I wasn’t stuck in this house all day long with Annie’s tantrums and Bill’s moping. I got upset, and I hit her. I was so ashamed, when she ran away that night I didn’t go after her right away. I just stayed there, crying and feeling like the worst mother in the world.", "I tried to be gentler after that, more understanding. So instead of getting cross with Annie, I let her stay in her room and cooked her some dinner. I turned up the TV real loud so I wouldn’t hear the racket she was making in there. She makes such a mess sometimes, and it makes me so angry, the way she breaks her things like she doesn’t even care about them anymore. I bought her a puppy once, but she wouldn’t even touch it, like she was scared of it. The very day I decided to take it back to the pet store, it vanished. I found Annie in the backyard, holding a little trowel, sitting on a pile of dirt. I helped her wash up and never mentioned it again.", "I made her favorite food, macaroni and cheese, hoping it might calm her down. But as soon as I opened the door she slammed into me, trying to get past. I almost dropped the food everywhere wrestling with her like that. She had this wild look in her eyes, like an animal. It scared me, being alone in there with her when she was like that. I put the food on her desk and gently pushed her toward the chair.", "“I made it just the way you like,” I told her, smiling and trying not to look as afraid as I felt.", "She stared at me like she didn’t understand a word I was saying.", "“Will you eat some of it?”", "“I don’t want to,” she said. Her voice sounded strange, different than I’d ever heard it before. I hope I didn’t shudder. I didn’t want to upset her.", "“Please, Annie, I’m very worried about you.”", "“That’s not my name.”", "She likes to change her name sometimes. It worries me. One day she’s Beth, the next day Irene. It’s just like her hair, she changes it every time she runs away. I get so scared that one day I won’t be able to find her, and the police won’t be able to help because I won’t know what she looks like or what she’s calling herself.", "“Sweetheart, I’d really like you to eat a little bit. Just a little, please, for mommy.”", "And then she said, with the meanest look on her face, “You’re not my mommy.”", "It hurt so much. It felt like a stab to my heart. Tears welled up in my eyes before I could stop them, so I turned away. I heard her scramble onto the bed, her fingernails scratching like little claws on the posts. When I looked back, she had her back pressed against the corner of the room, legs drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Staring at me with those wild animal eyes.", "“I love you, Annie,” I said with as much dignity as I could manage. “But sometimes I just don’t know how to deal with your behavior.”", "She screamed. Just this one long, loud, echoing screech, like a siren. Her mouth was wide open, but her face was blank. I covered my ears, got out of the room and closed the door behind me.", "I had to collect myself before I could go see Bill. He’s been so odd lately, I don’t want to worry him anymore.", "I got a second plate of the macaroni and brought it to the bedroom. That’s where he spent all his time, lying in bed.", "“Honey, I made dinner.”", "He didn’t answer, didn’t even roll over to look. I picked up the plate from this morning, the food on it untouched, and put the new one down where he could reach it.", "“Annie’s back. I found her in the park. She’s pitching a fit in her room already.”", "He must’ve heard the screaming. I always tried to keep her quiet, told her that daddy needed rest, but she never listened. Sometimes I wondered if he could even hear her. He never got up to see what was wrong.", "I knelt beside the bed and looked into his eyes. He stared back at me, not saying a word. He’d been like ever since the first time Annie ran away. They’d been alone together. Then she had run off, and he’d stopped talking. He lay down in bed and never got up again. Lost his job, lost so much weight. He hardly even looked like the man I’d married.", "I kissed him on the forehead and left. As I closed the door behind me, I thought I saw him start to get up, but I guess I must have imagined it.", "Annie kept on with that awful screaming for hours. I stayed in the living room, sitting on our big three-person couch alone. I turned up the TV as loud as I could, played music, turned on the blender, tried everything I could to drown out the awful screaming. It was like nails being driven into my ears, like spiders crawling up my neck, like ice water splashing on my legs.", "Finally it stopped. I thought maybe she’d finally tuckered herself out, but then the scratching started. That was almost worse. It started out quick, rhythmic, but it got slower as time went on. Sometimes Annie would make a noise, like she was crying again. I started to worry that she might be hurting herself, but I couldn’t get that awful thing she had said to me or that wild look in her eyes out of my head. I just stayed in the living room and tried to sleep.", "I don’t know how it got to be like this. I’ve thought about taking her to a doctor, but they always give her these strange looks. It’s gotten to where I don’t dare to go to the same doctor twice: I’m afraid they might be thinking of taking her away from me, of doing something awful to her.", "I’ve thought about calling in a priest. I know that must sound crazy, but the way she gets sometimes, like she doesn’t even know me, it scares me so much. She’ll call out to people who aren’t there, shout names I don’t know like they’re real people. And there was that business with the kitchen knife. It wasn’t the first time she’s tried to hurt me. She smuggles rocks into the house and tries to hit me with them when my back is turned. When she gets really wild she’ll bite and claw at me. Some days I start to wonder if she’s really my little girl, or something else, wearing her face, haunting me.", "After a long time the scratching stopped and everything got quiet. I sighed with relief. The house is so much nicer when it’s quiet.", "I looked at the clock and could hardly believe how late it was. She must have finally fallen asleep. When I looked over at her door, I saw the light still on through the cracks. Quiet as I could, I tiptoed over. I would just peek in, turn off the light. Maybe give her a little kiss good night.", "I opened the door just a crack, but that was all it took. She slammed through, knocked me to the floor, and scrambled away.", "“Annie stop!” I shouted. She was going right to our bedroom, making so much noise I was sure it would wake Bill up.", "She shoved through our door and I ran after. But inside she was just standing there, staring at the bed.", "“Sweetheart, daddy’s sleeping,” I hissed.", "She started screaming again, even louder than before. She pointed at Bill and screamed and screamed. I shushed her, tried to tell her he was sleeping.", "But she wouldn’t stop. She screamed and screamed. The sound pierced through me, tore apart every nerve in my body. I covered my ears and scratched at my face and soon I was screaming too, just as loud as she was. I took her up in my arms and we screamed together. I hugged her as tight as I could, squeezed her to me, wishing I could do something, anything to make it stop. I held her so close I could feel her heartbeat, how soft and quiet it was, growing quieter and quieter.", "She stopped screaming, there in my arms, and soon I stopped too. I sank to my knees, holding my little girl in my arms, stroking her hair.", "I don’t know how long we stayed like that. It was so dark in the bedroom.", "I looked down at Annie, but it wasn’t Annie at all. I was holding one of my dolls.", "I must have fallen asleep, holding her there, and she snuck away and put a doll in my arms instead. It was a funny doll, one I didn’t remember having. It had such lovely blonde hair.", "I felt so silly, holding that doll like that for who knows how long. I got up and carried it to the closet where I keep the other dolls and laid it there. There were so many dolls, and they were all so big, I was starting to run out of room. But I couldn’t throw them out. They were so pretty, such lovely little dolls. They all looked different, but every single one reminded me of Annie.", "I checked around the house, but she was gone. She must have been very upset, to run away twice in just two days. I got my coat on and got ready to go look for her again.", "Before I left, I went back to the bedroom to check on Bill. Somehow all the noise hadn’t bothered him at all. I touched his forehead, but he didn’t seem any different. My fingers stuck a little bit, and there was some funny green stuff left on them afterward. I wiped it off on the bed and said goodbye.", "It was such a lovely day outside. I took a deep breath of the fresh air. I love our house, but every once in a while I notice the worst smell in there.", "Somewhere off in the distance, I heard the sound of children laughing. It was so nice to hear after all that awful noise last night. Maybe Annie thought so too. I followed the laughter.", "Credit To – Gray", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Caught in the Headlights	https://www.creepypasta.com/caught-in-the-headlights/	7.91	February 20, 2013	302	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "I was driving home from school for thanksgiving break. It was dark even though it was only 7PM. I always hated when it started to get dark so early. I always felt like I was missing out on the day when it would be dark by the time I got out of class. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one driving home this evening. Apparently a lot of other students also had this idea judging from the traffic on the freeway. Bored with the stopping and going of the gridlock, I decide to hop off the highway and take some country roads past some of the heavier holdups. I turn down a road that looks to be running about parallel to the highway and off I went. It felt nice being able to just drive without worrying about stopping and going and switching lanes. I threw on the cruise control and just rode the gentle hills up and down through the dark farm lands with nothing but the moon, stars, and my headlights lighting my way. But after about twenty minutes, the farm lands turned to forest and I lost the moon and stars. The darkness made me feel uneasy for some reason. I was worried a deer might suddenly jump out of the woods or a turn in the road would go unnoticed until it was too late. I hadn’t passed another car since I turned down this country road, so I figured it would be ok to turn on my brights. With my right hand on my gear shift, I reached with my left hand to flick the switch for the bright lights.", "I froze.", "My blood turned to ice.", "My stomach dropped to the floor.", "My body went numb.", "I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.", "My body was betraying me. I tried to move. I urged myself to move. I pleaded with my body to move, but I just couldn’t. I suddenly had an incredible urge to look into my rearview mirror. I didn’t know what I expected to see, but I just knew I had to look. I used every ounce of strength and will power to force my eyes up to the mirror. Inch by agonizingly slow inch, my eyes slid across the interior of my car until finally my eyes came to the mirror.", "A girl?", "In the back seat of my car sat, what appeared to be, a young woman in a dress. My brain was numb. I could not comprehend what was happening. She seemed to radiate some sort of pale grey light, but she wasn’t illuminating her surroundings. Her wavy hair fell past her shoulders and her expressionless face was sprinkled with freckles. He dull eyes stared blankly straight ahead. My mind struggled to make sense of this situation. So many questions whirled in my head that they just became a giant tangled mess. I sat there, brain spinning, until a question just fell out of my mouth.", "“Who are you?” I asked in barely a whisper. At the sound of my voice, her eyes crashed into mine. They pierced me. They bore into mine and I could do nothing but stare back.", "They were empty.", "There was no emotion in her eyes. Nothing at all. I felt as if a part of me was being sucked into the voids that were her soulless eyes and the ice that filled my veins felt as if it had turned into a fine powder. Eternities came and went, or so it felt, before I was able to regain my voice.", "“Who..?” I managed to get out before my voice was lost again. Her eyes remained locked with mine and for a moment there was silence.", "“Do I frighten you?”", "Her mouth barely moved.", "Her eyes never did.", "I only just heard her. I thought maybe my mind was tricking me. It sounded like her words were being caught by a wind. My brain was still in a tangle and I couldn’t comprehend what she was asking. I wanted to answer. To tell her yes, she was in fact scaring me to death, in hopes that maybe she would stop. But there was a question nagging at the back of my mind that finally made its way through all the clutter.", "“Are you a ghost?” I whispered. Her eyes continued to burrow into mine. Digging deeper and deeper into me. My body was going cold, but my mind was beginning to clear.", "“Does my presence frighten you?” she asked again. Her eyes never wavering. I met her gaze and answered,", "“No.”", "We sat in silence for a moment. My eyes meeting hers and hers piercing mine. The tangle in my brain was beginning to release. My thoughts were becoming more clear.", "“I am afraid of you, but your presence does not frighten me,” I whispered. She cocked her head slightly to the side, but continued staring into me. My voice felt stronger now.", "“Your presence here is a relief to me, in a way. You have proven to me that there is something after death. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s comforting to know that there is something. Anything…”", "She continued staring.", "“Is this how you looked when you died?” I asked her.", "She nodded. Slowly. Effortlessly. She barely appeared to be moving.", "“You were beautiful.”", "Her eyes widened ever so slightly. There was a flash of sadness in them before they were consumed again by that vast emptiness. Her eyes met mine and mine, hers. She lifted her arm and pointed a finger straight ahead.", "“Watch where you are going.”", "At that moment I regained control of body. I looked where she had been pointing and saw a sharp turn in the road and nothing but forest in front of me. I slammed on the breaks and turned the wheel. My back tires fishtailed from side to side as I tried to turn the wheel to compensate. My tires came loose of the pavement and I did a full 360 turn before I came to a screeching stop mere feet away from a tree.", "I sat there, white knuckled, clutching the wheel. I was breathing as if I had just run a marathon. I remembered the girl and whipped my head around to look in the back seat, but she was gone. I turned back and slumped into the seat. I must have fallen asleep at the wheel. It was all just a dream. After a few minutes of catching my breath and thanking whoever was looking out for me, I turned on my car and got back onto the road. As I was driving, with my right hand on my gear shift, I reached with my left hand to flick the switch for the bright lights. With a click, the forest was illuminated by my car’s lights. A few hundred feet down the road I saw a yellow road sign that read “Caution: High Accident Area” and I chuckled. That sign would have been useful 5 minutes ago. But as I got closer I realized there was more writing on it. On the bottom part of the sign was something hand-written in red paint.", "“RIP SAMANTHA”", "Credit To – Billy", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Wake Up	https://www.creepypasta.com/wake-up-2/	7.1	February 19, 2013	302	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Everything started out normal. It was just a simple nightmare, right? But the more I thought about it, the more unlikely that sounded. No nightmare could be that detailed, that gruesome. At first I thought I was alone in that dream, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. There was something there, in the far corner of the room. It sat there, watching, waiting, taunting me, almost drawing me towards it. It looked like a statue, made of dark stone with glittering eyes made of rubies. It’s hands were crossed over it’s heart, as if holding a small object close. Silently, I walked towards the object, somehow knowing I would regret the decision. It was only a few feet away now. Something was off about the statue. It had a deathly cold air around it, almost like an invisible wall that you had to push through to get past. Once I was only a foot away, I immediately knew what was off about it. This wasn’t a statue. No, far from it to be exact. It was some sort of…phantom, reaper, whatever way you want to describe it. It just stood there, unwavering, unblinking. I desperately wanted to move away, to turn and run as far away as possible, though something rooted me to that exact spot. Was it fear? Fascination? Maybe a little bit of both? Whatever it was, I despised the feeling for keeping me in such a dangerous spot.", "It all happened so fast. First, I was standing there, watching the creature. Then, it lunged at me, wrapping it’s robed arms around me, the cold air chilling me to the bone. I blinked, a new scene unraveling in front of me. I couldn’t exactly describe where I was, because there was nothing around me except snow. The white fluff was blowing in the wind, like ice cold razors cutting through my flesh. All sense of direction was lost, replaced by desperation to get out of the freezing temperatures. Sprinting off in what I thought was north, I stumbled a few times, quickly getting up in fear that something was chasing me. I must have been running for hours, though I couldn’t tell. Off in the distance, I thought I saw what looked like a cave. It was still a good two hundred yards away, but surprisingly clear through the blizzard. Seeing it as my only option, I ran towards the entrance, finally stumbling into the blackness. Upon reaching the bottom, I found myself in a jungle, heat beating down on me, the sweat refusing to evaporate into the already humid air. Getting up, I brushed the dirt off my pants, carefully slinking through the trees and undergrowth, not wanting to attract any unwanted guests. There was a sound in the distance, almost sounding like an elderly man’s voice. Ignoring it at first, I continued to walk, the man’s voice getting louder with each step until I reached a small clearing. In the center, an old man sat, his knees pulled to his chest. The man’s back was towards me, but as I walked around him, I was surprised, no, terrified when I saw what he looked like. Pale, emotionless eyes sunken into his skull. Thin lips muttering something I couldn’t hear. Skin wrinkled and burnt from sitting in the blistering hot sun. The man looked up at me, recognition flashing in his gaze. “I saw you in my dream. Can you save us?” He asked, still rocking back and forth. The words shocked me, and as I backed away, he repeated himself. Over and over he spoke the words, each time his eyes growing wider and wider, his voice raising to a shout. Turning, I sprinted off in the direction away from the clearing, though the words still followed me the whole way.", "Another few hours passed, and I was in a field. The change of scenery confused me, and I knew that it had to have something to do with the reaper that attacked me. Off on the horizon, there was a mountain, it’s peak reaching high above the clouds. Walking towards it, I tripped over something, falling onto my face. Turning, I saw what looked to be a young girl, about 13 years old, laying in the grass, her hands folded over her chest. “Don’t believe what they say. You’re dreaming. You have to wake up,” She said, returning to her pensive state. Backing away, I continued my trek towards the mountain, though I didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Frustrated, I kicked a stone, falling back onto the ground. There was a cold wind, red eyes flashing above me before the world went black.", "", "A soft dripping sounded in the distance, soft whispers followed by a beep…beep…beep. I didn’t open my eyes in fear of seeing the reaper, continuing to listen to what was going on. There was a louder voice off in the distance, and I sat up, my eyes opening to take in a white hospital room, flowers and a card sitting on the table next to me. There were doctors out in the hallway, whispering softly. One must have seen me, because they all rushed into the room, huddling around my bed. “What did you see? Did you dream? Was it there?” They asked, all the questions making my head start to ache. Someone from the back of the crowd hushed everyone, pushing his way to the front. He was tall, and though he only looked to be about twenty-two, he had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. “Let the poor girl wake up a little first,” He said, setting a clipboard down on the edge of my bed. “Here, I’ll explain,” He said. “Police found you in the woods about a mile away from your house. There were several puncture wounds all over your body, and you were shivering as if you were in the snow without a coat. A few of us checked you out, though we were unable to identify the cause of said wounds. You’ve been in a coma for over two years,” The doctor explained, his eyes dark in sadness. “During the coma, we have written down several things you have said in your sleep, most of them inexplicable,” He said, looking down at the clip board. “Your stable now, so you’re free to go home any time you wish,” The doctor said, grabbing his clipboard and heading out of the room. A nurse handed me my clothes, the rest of them leaving the room to let me get changed. After doing so, I walked to the lobby to check out.", "", "That same night, I crawled into my bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin and looking out the window. The branches rattled against the window in the wind, making me jump every time they brushed against the glass. I could’t seem to shake the memory of the reaper, especially the red eyes. Something about them seemed so foreign, yet so familiar. Shaking my head, I turned over so my back was facing the window, deciding to think about it in the morning. Closing my eyes, I heard a soft whisper.", "“Sleep tight… I’ll be waiting.”", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
In the Wall	https://www.creepypasta.com/in-the-wall/	8.6	February 18, 2013	302	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "I had moved into a new apartment with my girlfriend about two years ago. It was pretty small; it had only a kitchen, one bedroom, one bathroom, and a living room. All of the rooms might have been small, but the rent was good, and we didn’t really care. Neither of us made enough money to move out of the place, so we tried to make the most of it. One of the oddest things about the place was that the left wall was completely hollowed out, and the right wall was rock solid. I didn’t even notice when we first moved in. Our neighbors were always quiet and kept mostly to themselves. When we moved in, the only neighbors we had were the Whites. The Whites were to the right of us, and they were an elderly couple. They were nice to us. When we had first moved in, they brought us a “welcome to the building” present, which is what they do for all of the new people who had moved in to an apartment in the building. It was a small apple pie, which was actually quite good. About five or six months after my girlfriend and I moved in, there was a new guy that had moved into the right of us. I remember first meeting him. I had just gotten back to the building with some groceries, and as I climbed up the stairs to my apartment, I accidentally bumped into someone.", "“Sorry, excuse me Mr…” but I didn’t know who this guy was. Our building is fairly small, and just about everyone knows everyone else. The man I had bumped into was middle aged, probably in his mid-fifties. Something about him was odd, though. He had deep wrinkles, pale white skin, and long greasy black hair that were unkempt and around his face and back. He looked rather sickly, like he needed to see a doctor. His eyes were a solid dark purple, which is something that I have never seen before in my entire life. “Peters” the man said with a grin that stretched ear to ear. His teeth were disgusting. They were un-brushed and looked like they were rotting away. I can still smell his putrid breath, which seemed to reek of old decaying meat. All though his appearance was a little bit creepy, he seemed nice enough. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Peters. My names Matt. Are you new to the building?” I asked. Mr. Peters smile grew even bigger. I don’t know how he, let alone any human could smile that wide. “Yes, I am moving in. And I’m going to be living right next to your apartment.” He said as we both walked up the stairs to the top floor.", "When we reached the top floor, Mr. Peters pace increased as he quickly walked to the door, opened it with his key, and shut the door behind him. It was odd, though. He did it so quickly, it was like a blur. I sighed to myself. “Great, now I have a freakish neighbor.” I thought to myself as I turned the handle of my door. It was about 4:00 P.M. My girlfriend, Sandra, was still at her job. She’s a hair stylist, and I’m a chef at a local Italian restaurant. I usually don’t get off until later, but because business was slow that day, and nobody was coming in, we closed early. I put the groceries down on the kitchen table and start to unload everything into the refrigerator. I didn’t have much with me, only about one bag. Quart of milk, a few sticks of butter, ground hamburger meat, and a box of cereal. I then got a text message from my friend, Tyler. “Bro, I just got my hands on the new Red Dead Redemption game, and you need to go out and get it so we can play together.” Was what the message read. Now, I wasn’t much of a gamer, but Tyler is one of my closest friends that I have. We’ve been best friends ever since middle school. I did have an Xbox 360, and Tyler and I would play games together from time to time. I didn’t really have anything better or more interesting to do, so I texted him back saying I would go out and buy it. As I was just about to leave to go get the game, I heard a lot of banging coming from the wall. It was weird though, because it was so clear. I went up to the left side of the wall and gave it a light tap with my knuckle. This was the first time that I realized that for whatever reason, the wall was hollow like a log. I went to the right wall, and repeated the process, only to be greeted with a thud. This wall was solid. I was puzzled on why in the world the builders of this place would make one wall solid, and the other hollow. I was also curious as to what Mr. Peters was doing to make all of that noise. I just shrugged it off. “Probably just moving things in or something.” I told myself. But, that couldn’t be right. He didn’t have anything with him when I saw him. I shrugged it off, and left to go get the game.", "I got back at around 5:00 with my new game, and I was glad to discover that the banging from Mr. Peters ceased. I was happy with this. I didn’t really care what he was doing, as long as he did it quietly. I popped the game in and put my headset on. I have a pretty good headset, it blocks out most sounds. It was nice and tight around the ears, and I loved it. Tyler and I played and talked for almost three hours straight. I would have gone longer, but Sandra came home at about 8:00. I told Tyler that I had to go, and that we could play more tomorrow after I was done with work. Tyler didn’t have a job. He didn’t need one. His father was a rich man who owned some oil company or something like that, I don’t really remember. But I do know that he spoils Tyler rotten, giving him tons of money for doing absolutely nothing at all. I powered off the console and got up out of my chair to give Sandra a hug. We talked about stuff like how our days went, and things like that. I then I remembered Mr. Peters. “Did you know that someone was moving into the apartment right next to us?” I asked. She told me that she was unaware of a new member joining our building. Weird that she didn’t know of Mr. Peters. I decided that I would go ask Mr. and Mrs. White tomorrow morning. They know everybody in the building. They probably already have a pie baked and ready to send over to his apartment.", "I didn’t sleep well that night. I had an insane dream about Mr. Peters just standing over my bed, my girlfriend beside me. Smiling that terrifying smile. I was going to do something, wake up my girlfriend, run away in fear, anything. But I was stopped when he simply put his finger over my lips and quietly said “Shhh” in a soft, friendly voice. It didn’t feel like a dream, though. Everything was so clear, and I can remember it all so well. It’s impossible that it was real, though. That’s what my therapist told me, at least. After a long sleepless night, I took a quick shower and was going to get some food for breakfast. I also noticed the banging on the wall from Mr. Peters apartment. It was softer this time, and more… creepy. After my shower, I went to my kitchen. Only, something was off. Quart of milk, a few sticks of butter, ground hamburger meat, but no box of cereal. I looked everywhere, thinking I just misplaced it by accident. Sandra woke up thanks to me frantically looking for the box. “Sandra, what’d you do with the cereal?” I asked her while still looking in the various shelves in my kitchen. “Didn’t you put it in here?” she asked while pointing to the spot where I swore that I put it. “I could have sworn that I did, but I don’t know where it went. Please tell me that you took it,” I said. Yet she continued to deny the accusation. I thought it was her regardless. What else could it have been? A burglar? No. What burglar steals boxes of cereal? I didn’t pay much attention to it, though. I just said, “Guess it just grew a pair of legs and walked off.” and forgot about the whole ordeal.", "I went over to the Whites and knocked on their door. I was greeted when Mr. White answered. “Hey there, son. How are you this fine morning?” He asked with his typical happy-go-lucky tone of voice. “Hey there Mr. White. I’m doing well, thanks for asking. But I came over to ask you about someone. Have you heard of a Mr. Peters?” I asked. Mr. White frowned when I asked. “Well, no. Sorry son, can’t say that I have. Who is he?” He questioned. “He moved into the apartment right next to ours. I’m surprised that you don’t know who he is. You of all people in this building would know if someone new was moving in.” I said. Mr. White then smiled and said, “Well we should go and see how’s he’s doing, then.” I think about it for a second, and took him up on his offer. The two of us walked over to his door, and Mr. White knocked on the door. We stood there for a little bit, only to returned with silence. I found it odd that there was no response what so ever. We didn’t even hear any noises from the other side of the door. “Hmm.. He must be sleeping, still.” chimed in Mr. White. I found it to be a reasonable for the lack of sounds coming from the other side of the door. “Well, how about we come back later to see if he’s awake?” I ask Mr. White. He agrees to the offer, and says that he’ll have a freshly bakes pie ready for when I get back from work. We part ways, and I go about my day as normal. Then I got back home.", "I changed my clothes, and then went to the kitchen to grab something to eat really fast before I went over to see Mr. White. I grabbed a chocolate bar, and went to the refrigerator. But when I opened the door, I saw no milk quart. Now I was starting to get an annoyed. Was Sandra just pulling a prank or something? I got home before her again, so I decided to just go see to Mr. White and talk to Sandra when she got home. I knocked on the door, and got something I wasn’t expecting at all. Mrs. White answered the door, tears running down her cheeks and red irritated eyes. “Hello, Matt.” She said through her crying. I was completely caught off guard by this, so I simply asked what had happened to out her in this state. “It’s George. My poor, sweet George.” She said. Now, even though Sandra and I just called him, “Mr. White”, we both knew his first name was George. “What happened to him?” I asked. “He’s gone! He just disappeared!” She said through her now heavy sobbing. My mind rushed to one conclusion; Mr. Peters. “Follow me, now.” I told Mrs. White.", "I rushed down the hall to Mr. Peters door. I pounded my fist on the door. “Mr. Peters! Open up right now!” I was once again returned with silence. Complete and utter silence. Mrs. White came running down the hallway and caught up to me. “Have you called the police about Mr. White?” I asked. She nodded. “They came over and I told them what happened. Now, why are you banging the door? Who’s Mr. Peters?” I explained everything to her, and she too had never heard of him. Concerned, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Mrs. White and I waited for the police to arrive, but before they could get to us, Sandra came walking down the hallway. “What’s going on here?” She asked us. I told her about everything that had happened. Mr. White and I coming over, the missing milk, and Mr. White’s disappearance. Sandra waited with us for the police to arrive.", "They finally got to the apartment, and I yet again explained my story. They both looked at each other, and knocked on the door, also to be greeted with silence. They went to go talk to the building manager to see if they could get some more information, but he said that there was no Mr. Peters who lived in that apartment. Both the police and the building manager returned to the door, master key in hand. The door then swung open. Nothing. It was just a normal empty room. We all walked in, confused, me more then the others. Then I remembered. I walked over to the wall, and gave it a light knock with my first. The hollow walls made its standard sound. I called everyone over, and showed that the wall was in fact hollow. What went from two police officers quickly escalated into ten. It took about three hours, but Sandra, Mrs. White, the building manager and I all waited for the police to finger out what to do next. After some discussion, the decision was to knock down the hollowed wall, and what I saw next would change my life forever.", "It was a terrible sight. Mr. Peters lay quietly next to the dead corpse Mr. White, his stomach messily flayed open. It looked as if Mr. Peters used his teeth to grind a large slit in his stomach, and then used his fingers to pry it open. But that wasn’t the worst part of it was that in his opened up stomach, was a pit of milk, cereal, and blood. There was so much blood.. All over both of their bodies. Mrs. White didn’t take it well. She was hysterical, and started to vomit. Some of the policemen vomited as well, and even though I felt like I was going to, I resisted. Even though that the sight was hooraying, that still isn’t the worst part. The worst thing of the scene was his smile. He had that same ear to ear grin as he did when we first met. The police had their guns drawn, pointed right at him. But he just smiled, straight at me. Straight into my eyes. His gaze sent chills running up my spine. He got up and stepped away from his body, his eyes never leaving mine. His smile never losing its size.", "The police brought him out to the apartment, and put handcuffs on him. Other officers took Mr. White out of the hollowed wall, Mrs. White crying all the way. I feel for her, really I do. If I found Sandra in that state, I don’t know how I would react. Mr. Peters was taken away, and he was given the death penalty. I saw a therapist not long after the ordeal, and I still see him once every week. I’m writing this right now, just to warn everyone out there. When you hear banging at you wall or roof, or are just hearing “house noises”, you might want to give it a closer inspection. It probably just is normal “house noises”, but after this event I never took the chance. I’m still incredibly paranoid. I remember one night at around 3:00 in the morning; i heard some banging coming from my kitchen. I got up as I always do, but this time was different. I saw Mr. Peters smiling at me, his teeth dripping with a crimson fluid, which had to be blood. I turned on the light, and he simply vanished into thin air. I don’t know why this is happening to me. I don’t even believe in the supernatural or anything, but I know what I saw. He was just standing there, looking right at me. Smiling that terrifying smile.", "Credit To – Cade McKown", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Night	https://www.creepypasta.com/night/	5.54	February 17, 2013	302	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "At my young tender age, painting was the only psychoanalysis I ever needed to retreat to, or how common people call it therapy. Every hour in the morning until the sun rises, my brush strokes back and forth. It tells a part of a story I wish to tell, but I am only full of fear. The brush strains itself dry with repressed fear as its ink.", "What did I paint this time in the morning?", "", "A bird.", "My first night under the new full moon in the summer was an everyday moment. The repeating cycle forced upon the cold shadows of what used to be formal civilization. I tried to close my eyes, entering into a tranquil state, relieving myself from the pain of familiar faces.\nEntering the other side of my mind, the visions and experiences to which my emotions created.\nA dream. One night I entered.\nOne night I took in the unexpected.\nOne night I envisioned a corrupt identity.\nAdvertisements\n\n\n\nVisions blurred around, but at once I reasoned to the fact I was falling into deep space. My eyes closed shut, to let the feeling sink in. Unsteadiness arose when my bare feet felt cool slabs of brick.\nThis is quite strange, I thought.\nI’m outside.\nThere I was on my hands and feet, rising up to wave around, feeling any possible walls in this pitch-dark environment. Only two walls reached my grasp, side by side. If there was a passage, there was a way out. I took a light step forward with one hand on the wall. Light was up ahead, and my hand lost touch at the end. Something rushed by inches from my face. My eyes deceived me, for that was not a train, creature, or being, it was a coach.\nA coach? Have I gone mad?\nThe rush of wind trailing behind caught my legs, forcing them back down on the pavement. Whatever this place was, nothing of modern living was shown. Old street lamps in black lighted each corner. All of the buildings were in a crimson color; to where I stood was an abandoned alley.\nMy Lungs dropped abruptly, choking and wheezing for a gasp of air. Grey paste retched out of my system, relieving the pain my lungs had.\n“Oh! The indecency!” said a woman above me. The paste stained her dress and petticoat. She scrunched her little nose, tossing her head the other way. People treaded across the grey puddle, all mimicking the woman’s disgusted face.\nRetreating to the alley was the only choice now. There was a stinging pain across my head and heavy shoulders dragged me down. Rest was inevitable now.\n \nVery little time had passed in my struggle to rest. The night grew darker with nobody around. I had very shallow strength to walk, but it was not time to worry about.\nThe well-kept perfection of nothing out of place chilled my knees. There stood lit lamps, cool breeze, no quarrelsome ruffians or pestering chats. Everything kept in place.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI stood up at the sound of a slow clacking noise down the pavement. On a corner across the alley, stood a lamp where a shadow grew closer.\n \nIt was a woman.\nThe woman clicked in her heels quickly, clutching both arms in the cold. She lifted her head up to catch a glimpse of the night sky. Such an illuminating beauty she was. However her eyes encountered a different story. They sunk in deeply, losing color in the iris of what should have been hazel. The woman lowered her head on the lamppost, exhibiting weary highlights of indigo and violet in her hair. Outbursts of sobbing were all she did.\n“Get the damn girl…Wait! There is no…either that filth…. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!”\nUnknown thoughts stung me various times, burrowing its messages in my head like swarming wasps. I kept bashing at my forehead, believing this was a demented illusion. Every vein retracted inside. Something was pulling strings, since I could not even twitch. The strain held back blood from my beating heart. It would skip for seconds until it ceased to beat at all. Death nearly took me away, but the hidden force released me and I collapsed.\nFaint laughter was heard from the entity.\n“…Lucky…sense…here…he…here…. He’s here. Fufufu-hahaha………such…queer…you…are…”\nAt the corner, the woman ceased to stop wailing. What stopped her wails was the sound of another’s footsteps. She flinched at its shadow coming near the lamppost.\nThe lamppost shined on a tall man in a dark cloak with his fingers in white and sharpened at the tip.\nHis face is what shook me.\nOnly a white bird mask covered his face. There was little skin on his right cheek, and red meat dangled on the side. The woman looked at the damage with sad eyes. I listened deeply to the woman’s voice of anguish, hearing not a hint of what I could understand. The man spoke softly to calm her down. She stomped a heel, yelling at him in frustration. He took a hard slap from the woman and yelled in agony of the dangling meat ripping away. His white hand seized her arm. She whimpered at his impatience, hearing the dark tone in his threat. But the man could not bear seeing her forlorn.\nHe openly embraced the woman, soothing her fear with words.\n“You…ignore…happiness. Have…”\nThe entity returned.\nI had enough of the message it tried to send.\n“This cannot change on what I believe in. Possessive thoughts are for the driven.” I told the invisible being.\nWhat was I saying…?\n“Fools? You. Better…even the girl…DAMN LIFE-“\n“SHUT UP!” I covered my ears, no to believe the insanity in me.\n\n\n\nAdvertisements\n\n\n\n\n\n\n“Would…you…to be happy?”\n“Happy?”\n“Yes…only…to…rid…pain…slaughter…his…cherishment.”\nThere was a moment I had, looking at my right hand.\nEVERYTHING HAS AN END.\n \nThe wretched bastard fooled me by being apologetic. Every day she visited less and less, until a note was written to me on how she was happy in Lock Haven, with him as her betrothed. Bitter days raised and desolate nights set. That was an end to our friendship. And my madness as an animal opened.\n“End…it.” The entity murmured.\nI tightened my right hand into its very grasp with crimson trickling down.\nThere was a blade in my hand.\nNot a damn would be given over the pain; I slit the rest of my palm and held the handle in my left hand. The woman had been given the man’s cloak for warm comfort. They walked separated paths after dealing with conflict. I paced forward in her direction. She seemed detached of worries over any possible danger in the night.\n \nI pounced upon the woman’s petite figure, stuffing my fingers in her mouth to block any uttering shriek.\nMy blade punctured her face numerous times. The absolute rush of releasing my demented rage was everything to me!\nPride. Wrath. Melancholy. Emotions representing harsh cloaked feelings.\nSympathy. Joy. Care. Emotions those are full of untouched beauty.\nAll the colors splattered around and mixed their contents to make sheer and brilliant crimson! Everywhere! EVERYTHING!\nBut everything has an end.\nThe man had dashed to her muffling cries, kicking me right off the woman. He pulled out a sword to finish me, but it turned to ashes. The man and woman disappeared.\nAdvertisements\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAnd so did the world.\n \nDark dust rose with fog surrounding me. The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.\nIts neck creaked each inch, raising the head toward me. The being slurred:\n“Envy has. …Become… Your master….”\nThe face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.\n“NO!”\nMy lungs peaked at its height in an attempt to breathe. I was alone in bed, looking at the alarm clock.\n5:09.\nThe sun has not risen yet.\nMy right hand seemed empty, no cuts, and no blade. Not even a dark thought that stung my head. I let out a deep sigh of solace. There was no need to go back to sleep. I had a conjecture over her happy ending. It was her fault for choosing that man. My only loss of regret was not choosing to see her again. Without a helping hand, she could have been lost. Seeing them both happy was enough to make me repulsed.\n \nThe thought made me chuckle a little.\n“Five more minutes of sleep would do…”\n \nMisery had always been The Artist’s great friend. Even in the lowest of times, I can’t help but reflect back on those dark times in my paintings.\nLook, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.\n \n \nCredit To – Atzin\n\n\n\n\n Please wait... \n\n\n\nCopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.", "My first night under the new full moon in the summer was an everyday moment. The repeating cycle forced upon the cold shadows of what used to be formal civilization. I tried to close my eyes, entering into a tranquil state, relieving myself from the pain of familiar faces.", "Entering the other side of my mind, the visions and experiences to which my emotions created.", "A dream. One night I entered.", "One night I took in the unexpected.", "One night I envisioned a corrupt identity.", "Visions blurred around, but at once I reasoned to the fact I was falling into deep space. My eyes closed shut, to let the feeling sink in. Unsteadiness arose when my bare feet felt cool slabs of brick.", "This is quite strange, I thought.", "I’m outside.", "There I was on my hands and feet, rising up to wave around, feeling any possible walls in this pitch-dark environment. Only two walls reached my grasp, side by side. If there was a passage, there was a way out. I took a light step forward with one hand on the wall. Light was up ahead, and my hand lost touch at the end. Something rushed by inches from my face. My eyes deceived me, for that was not a train, creature, or being, it was a coach.", "A coach? Have I gone mad?", "The rush of wind trailing behind caught my legs, forcing them back down on the pavement. Whatever this place was, nothing of modern living was shown. Old street lamps in black lighted each corner. All of the buildings were in a crimson color; to where I stood was an abandoned alley.", "My Lungs dropped abruptly, choking and wheezing for a gasp of air. Grey paste retched out of my system, relieving the pain my lungs had.", "“Oh! The indecency!” said a woman above me. The paste stained her dress and petticoat. She scrunched her little nose, tossing her head the other way. People treaded across the grey puddle, all mimicking the woman’s disgusted face.", "Retreating to the alley was the only choice now. There was a stinging pain across my head and heavy shoulders dragged me down. Rest was inevitable now.", "", "Very little time had passed in my struggle to rest. The night grew darker with nobody around. I had very shallow strength to walk, but it was not time to worry about.", "The well-kept perfection of nothing out of place chilled my knees. There stood lit lamps, cool breeze, no quarrelsome ruffians or pestering chats. Everything kept in place.", "I stood up at the sound of a slow clacking noise down the pavement. On a corner across the alley, stood a lamp where a shadow grew closer.", "", "It was a woman.", "The woman clicked in her heels quickly, clutching both arms in the cold. She lifted her head up to catch a glimpse of the night sky. Such an illuminating beauty she was. However her eyes encountered a different story. They sunk in deeply, losing color in the iris of what should have been hazel. The woman lowered her head on the lamppost, exhibiting weary highlights of indigo and violet in her hair. Outbursts of sobbing were all she did.", "“Get the damn girl…Wait! There is no…either that filth…. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!”", "Unknown thoughts stung me various times, burrowing its messages in my head like swarming wasps. I kept bashing at my forehead, believing this was a demented illusion. Every vein retracted inside. Something was pulling strings, since I could not even twitch. The strain held back blood from my beating heart. It would skip for seconds until it ceased to beat at all. Death nearly took me away, but the hidden force released me and I collapsed.", "Faint laughter was heard from the entity.", "“…Lucky…sense…here…he…here…. He’s here. Fufufu-hahaha………such…queer…you…are…”", "At the corner, the woman ceased to stop wailing. What stopped her wails was the sound of another’s footsteps. She flinched at its shadow coming near the lamppost.", "The lamppost shined on a tall man in a dark cloak with his fingers in white and sharpened at the tip.", "His face is what shook me.", "Only a white bird mask covered his face. There was little skin on his right cheek, and red meat dangled on the side. The woman looked at the damage with sad eyes. I listened deeply to the woman’s voice of anguish, hearing not a hint of what I could understand. The man spoke softly to calm her down. She stomped a heel, yelling at him in frustration. He took a hard slap from the woman and yelled in agony of the dangling meat ripping away. His white hand seized her arm. She whimpered at his impatience, hearing the dark tone in his threat. But the man could not bear seeing her forlorn.", "He openly embraced the woman, soothing her fear with words.", "“You…ignore…happiness. Have…”", "The entity returned.", "I had enough of the message it tried to send.", "“This cannot change on what I believe in. Possessive thoughts are for the driven.” I told the invisible being.", "What was I saying…?", "“Fools? You. Better…even the girl…DAMN LIFE-“", "“SHUT UP!” I covered my ears, no to believe the insanity in me.", "“Would…you…to be happy?”", "“Happy?”", "“Yes…only…to…rid…pain…slaughter…his…cherishment.”", "There was a moment I had, looking at my right hand.", "EVERYTHING HAS AN END.", "", "The wretched bastard fooled me by being apologetic. Every day she visited less and less, until a note was written to me on how she was happy in Lock Haven, with him as her betrothed. Bitter days raised and desolate nights set. That was an end to our friendship. And my madness as an animal opened.", "“End…it.” The entity murmured.", "I tightened my right hand into its very grasp with crimson trickling down.", "There was a blade in my hand.", "Not a damn would be given over the pain; I slit the rest of my palm and held the handle in my left hand. The woman had been given the man’s cloak for warm comfort. They walked separated paths after dealing with conflict. I paced forward in her direction. She seemed detached of worries over any possible danger in the night.", "", "I pounced upon the woman’s petite figure, stuffing my fingers in her mouth to block any uttering shriek.", "My blade punctured her face numerous times. The absolute rush of releasing my demented rage was everything to me!", "Pride. Wrath. Melancholy. Emotions representing harsh cloaked feelings.", "Sympathy. Joy. Care. Emotions those are full of untouched beauty.", "All the colors splattered around and mixed their contents to make sheer and brilliant crimson! Everywhere! EVERYTHING!", "But everything has an end.", "The man had dashed to her muffling cries, kicking me right off the woman. He pulled out a sword to finish me, but it turned to ashes. The man and woman disappeared.", "And so did the world.", "", "Dark dust rose with fog surrounding me. The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.", "Its neck creaked each inch, raising the head toward me. The being slurred:", "“Envy has. …Become… Your master….”", "The face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.", "“NO!”", "My lungs peaked at its height in an attempt to breathe. I was alone in bed, looking at the alarm clock.", "5:09.", "The sun has not risen yet.", "My right hand seemed empty, no cuts, and no blade. Not even a dark thought that stung my head. I let out a deep sigh of solace. There was no need to go back to sleep. I had a conjecture over her happy ending. It was her fault for choosing that man. My only loss of regret was not choosing to see her again. Without a helping hand, she could have been lost. Seeing them both happy was enough to make me repulsed.", "", "The thought made me chuckle a little.", "“Five more minutes of sleep would do…”", "", "Misery had always been The Artist’s great friend. Even in the lowest of times, I can’t help but reflect back on those dark times in my paintings.", "Look, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.", "", "", "Credit To – Atzin", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Campground	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-campground/	7.86	February 16, 2013	302	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "This is based off a true story experienced by my mother.", "When my mother was younger, a teenager specifically, she was quite mischievous. She was a rebel, a non-conformist. She smoked, drank, and went out all hours of the night with her misfit friends. She often teases me saying she and I would have never been friends had I been alive when she was young. She was the flirty badass, and I am a studious nerd who would rather stay home reading a book than go to a party. I often muse on the path my mother was on and how she miraculously strayed and changed her life completely. She went to college, graduated with a degree in child psychology, married her soul mate, and had me, my brother, and my sister. We lived in the same town my mother grew up in. It was a special town, nothing exciting really happened, but beautiful nonetheless located in sunny Southern California. However, there are some wooded regions scattered near the mountains that my mother had always warned my siblings and me never to go near. I had always wondered why, until the night my mother told me what had happened there when she was sixteen, when she and her friends sought out a place to create an impromptu outdoors kickback.", "As I mentioned before, my mother was quite the delinquent when she was a teenager. Life in the 70’s, with lax parental and legal control, made it easy for her friends and her to sneak out most nights to go smoke weed or drink. One night in particular, she collaborated with her friends to meet her at midnight at the local park, their usual hangout place, to rendezvous. Everything seemed to be going well. Her friends all confirmed, and my mom snuck out of her one story home with ease. Having no cell phone, the only items she brought with her were a pack of cigarettes and a flashlight. Her friends, Tony and Matt, planned to bring the rest of the drug paraphernalia. She wore high-waisted jeans, a plaid long sleeve shirt, and a light windbreaker. As she began her five minute walk to the park down the street, she paid special attention to the path her Converse were making as she jumped and skipped over the fallen leaves on the sidewalk. It was a breezy October night, and the wind was blowing slightly. She felt no need to turn on her flashlight just yet. Although it was dark, the streetlights were dimly shinning, and the moon was full and bright. The clear and comfortable night, the excitement of meeting with friends, and the worries my mother lacked, made her unusually confident that night. She had an approaching desire to do something dangerous. She wanted to have a different kind of fun that night.", "“Hey guys,” my mother called to her friends who were almost all there, “Where’s Barb and Shelley?” “On their way,” Tony said as he began to light up. My mother watched him light his piece, then impulsively took it out of his mouth. “Not yet,” my mother smiled mischievously. “What the hell dude!?” Tony yelled as he snatched his piece back from my mother. Matt was watching her intently, picking up on the subtle undertone of her statement. “What’s up Chris?” Matt said, ignoring Tony walking to the corner of the park to smoke in peace. “I thought we could do something different tonight, ya know, go somewhere we’ve never been. It’s the perfect night to try something new” she replied then shrugged. Matt just stared at her in silence, then whirled around when he heard a something snap behind him. “Hey guys!” Barb smiled brightly with Shelley behind her. “Ready to fuck shit up tonight?” she laughed and Shelley rolled her eyes. “All right, the gang’s all here. Tony come over here! Chris has something she wants to share with us,” Matt stepped aside to let my mother have the center of the basketball court they were all standing in to give her proposition. Tony returned to the group and they all stood in a semi-circle around my mother. She looked around, making sure no one else could listen to what she had to say. A certain wave of paranoia suddenly washed over her, and she took one more look at the bushes and trees that surrounded the perimeter of the park. Nothing was there, so she began.", "“Okay,” she said quietly, causing the group to lean in to hear better, “I think we should go to…the Campground.” Silence followed the last word of her sentence. For anyone else, what she said would’ve been completely bathetic. What’s so special about a campground? But, if you lived in my mother’s town during the 70’s and you weren’t a total homebody, you would definitely know exactly what the Campground was. Matt was the first one to speak. “I…I dunno you guys. I just thought we were gonna light up and drink a little. I’m not in the mood to get arrested or nothin’.” “We won’t get arrested!” my mother replied, almost pleadingly. “Come on, we can get a little tipsy and faded first, then go. It’s not like we have to stay long neither. It’ll be quick. Don’t you guys wanna see what’s up there?” Her friends looked at each other and smiled, bringing relief to my mother. “All right,” Tony said, and the rest agreed, “We’ll go… later.”", "The gang took their time lighting up and drinking before beginning their voyage to the Campground. Admittedly, the drugs did ease any tension or worry they initially felt when my mother suggested what they do that night. It was apparent that they had at all first felt uneasy just at the name of the Campground. It used to be a Girl Scouts camp. It was only a little way into the woods which stretched far beyond the park, but it was completely dark with all the lights either burnt out or smashed in. A few teenagers went there on occasion to find a private place to have sex or do drugs, but for the most part, it was completely abandoned. The only thing the Campground still had was a very long log cabin, around 30 feet in length, the remains of a campfire that would sometimes be relit into a bonfire by the local teens, and a 6 foot teepee that was halfway burnt down. The teepee was fake of course, part of a past segment to teach the Girl Scouts about the Native Americans, but a sudden wildfire had burn part of it down. The cause of the fire was unknown, and although the damage it did to the log cabin was repaired, the Campground closed down soon after. Sometimes the police patrolled up there in hopes to catch kids doing illegal activities, but that was rare. Whenever someone went up there, there was always this feeling of being watched. The air seemed more toxic. The teepee and log cabin seemed more menacing. There also was this one instance, back in a two month period in ’68 where two teens traveled up there and never came back. Since they were known troublemakers, they were labeled as runaways and never spoke of again. My grandpa was a part of the major police force at the time and knew more stories of missing children than the public was allowed to know or report on. He would sometimes let these stories slip to my mother, who willingly told them to her friends. As far as anyone was concerned, the Campground was trouble. Whether it was tales of supernatural occurrences, rapists and murderers hiding in the surrounding trees waiting for unruly teens to show up, or spontaneous fires that would combust in order to draw out intruders, teens had no problem spreading these stories around. But, it only took the courageous, or high, to actually travel up there at night. If it weren’t for the calming effects the drugs were having on my mother and her friends, they would’ve turned back and never gone up.", "As they made their way into the woods, a dark shadow was cast over the moon. This called for my mother, Shelley, and Barbara to turn on their flashlights. Tony held a small lantern and walked in front of the group leading the way. The path, not well traveled, was hard to follow in the darkness. Leaves and branches cluttered the way, and it took longer than expected to reach the Campground. Every now and then my mother would stop and look in the woods after hearing an eerie noise or a twig snap. She mostly blew it off as some forest animal scampering in the woods, but she could never quite convince herself that was the case. She hoped more than anything that the natural light of the moon would return. The woods were getting harder and harder to see through. The path to the Campground began to be more and more unfamiliar to the group and Tony stopped to recoup. “Are we going the right way, guys?” Tony asked apparently frightened. The whole group had pretty much sobered up at this point and fear was beginning to take control over their minds and bodies. “I think so,” my mother said calmly. She took Tony’s place at the head of the group and kept walking. She was scared, terrified even, but there was an overwhelming compulsion that radiated through her bones to keep going. This wasn’t so bad, she thought to herself. She clutched her windbreaker tighter around her body. She looked around the trees for what must’ve been the millionth time. Each time she saw nothing, just a darker abyss of blackness. She shivered, although the wind had stopped blowing. She looked around at the faces of her friends, each more terrified than the next. She was about to suggest to go back when all of a sudden Shelley’s shriek awakened her from her thoughts. “Oh…my…god.”", "My mother whipped around to see what Shelley was staring with her mouth wide open. Up ahead to there was a faint orange light glowing at the end of the path about 20 yards from where they were. Shelley began to hyperventilate and my mother quickly covered Shelley’s mouth to prevent whatever was up there from hearing her. “Be quiet,” my mother harshly commanded. “Let’s go back…Please Chris,” Matt pleaded as he tried to take his eyes off the orange glow. “What the fuck is that?” Tony wondered aloud. Like the rest of the group, the orange light to him seemed to be hauntingly hypnotic. “You guys shut up please!” my mother whispered frantically. “It’s probably nothing, maybe just a small forest fire that broke out. Maybe a wire fell down and ignited a branch or something…or maybe…” my mother’s voice tapered of as she realized none of her friends were listening to her. Tony, Matt, and Shelley were still staring at the orange light. Wait, my mother thought, Tony, Matt, Shelley…where’s Barb!? “Oh my god you guys, where’s Barb!?” my mother hysterically whispered. The rest of the gang snapped out of there hypnosis and devolved into total panic. “She, she was just here!” Shelley whispered as tears gathered in her eyes. “Barb! Barbara!” the teens went off slightly in different directions in hopes to catch a glimpse of the missing girl. “Barbara, please come out!” my mother pleaded. “This isn’t funny!” Panicked thoughts raced through my mother’s head. Shit, shit shit. Where could’ve she have gone? She was right he- umph! My mother had tripped on a fallen tree branch and to catch her balance, stumbled backward into the trunk of a rather large tree. Her back had slammed so hard into the bark that the wind was temporarily knocked out of her small frame. In order to prevent herself from falling to the floor, she grabbed on above her to clutch some bark. Instead, she felt something wet and gooey. She quickly retreated her hand and a flash of Shelley’s flashlight exposed what was on her hand. She gasped as she saw the substance- red, sticky, and oozing between her fingers and dripping down her wrist. She grabbed her own flashlight which she had dropped on the floor and quickly turned to shine some light on the bark where she had grabbed on. “Holy fuck!” Tony gasped as he saw the insignia on the tree. My mother’s heart jumped, not realizing Tony was behind her, but was even more terrified at what she was looking at. A burnt, upside down cross was marked into the tree. And blood, fresh blood, was spread as a glaze atop the burnt markings. My mother quickly rubbed the blood off on her pants and stumbled backwards away from the tree. “Guys, we can’t find her anywhere,” Matt panted as him and Shelley, who had clearly been sobbing, returned to the group. “I think we should-…”", "All of a sudden, the shrillest scream my mother had ever heard pierced her ears. All four friends stood in terror as they realized it was Barbara’s voice. It was nothing that they had ever heard, and the source of her painful howls was coming from the direction of the orange light. My mother was paralyzed in fear as Barb’s screams penetrated every bone and vessel in her body. It sounded as if Barbara’s limbs were being ripped off, or she was being boiled alive. It shook her to her core as the screaming never ceased, but seemed to be getting louder. My mother began to shake and sob hysterically, not knowing what to do or where to run. The screaming was getting louder and more high-pitched. It was also getting shakier, as if Barbara was running. The friends looked at each other in total hopelessness. Where was she? Why was she screaming? Where could they go? My mother felt defeated. Whatever was torturing Barbara was definitely coming for them next. All of a sudden, my mother’s attention was drawn back to the orange light. It was getting brighter, bigger. My mother kept staring in the distance, the light getting painfully bright, the screams getting painfully louder. Then, the orange light did something unusual. As it was getting bigger, it seemed to be breaking up into several smaller lights. The mass of light was being separated by some unknown force. My mother was transfixed at this phenomenon until she heard the footsteps coming toward her. Louder, faster. My mother and her friends grasped each other tightly and closed their eyes. They couldn’t run. The screams were almost unbearable. Whatever it was, it was coming toward them. The screaming was getting louder and louder and the footsteps nearer and nearer until my mother gathered the courage to lift her head at the last possible second. What she saw was terrifying. Barbara was running full speed towards the group, screaming her head off, with a large knife wound running from the bottom of her eye to right above her jugular. Her face was bleeding and a mess. Her hair was unruly and her clothes were somewhat ripped. My mother was relieved to see her, but Barbara ran right past the group. My mother was confused until she heard more footsteps. Twenty, thirty, forty of them, all coming towards the group. Whatever was chasing Barbara was going for them next! My mother detached herself from the group and screamed, “RUN!”", "In times of survival like these, it was every man for themselves. My mother ran as fast as she could, dodging branches and jumping over rocks and other obstacles. She could feel her friends running behind her but she never ceased. She tried to keep her eye on Barbara who was quite ahead of the group. Once or twice my mother looked back, and every time she did, she wanted to throw up in fear. Fifty or so men, wearing black cloaks with ghoulish silver beams of lights radiating from their eyes sockets, were running after her and her friends carrying torches of gleaming orange fire. My mother had never seen eyes that color, or cloaks that frightening. These men ran faster and faster, blood dripping out of their mouths, and grunting and howling towards the children. My mother’s chest felt as if it was going to explode and fire seemed to erupt inside of her lungs. No matter what, my mother promised herself to not stop running. Not until she was safe. She could see the edge of the woods approaching, and relief immediately washed over her as she saw the familiar flashing blue, white, and red lights of police cars gathered in the park. My mother sprinted full force out of the woods and into the arms of the nearest police officer, sobbing and very much disheveled. She couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t stop hysterically crying. After a few moments of sobbing into the arms of this unknown police officer she looked up and saw Barb being taken away in a police car with bandages on her face. Tony, Matt, and Shelley were crying and talking with police officers about their experience. The men with the black cloaks and silver eyes were nowhere to be seen. The orange glow had disappeared. For the first time in what felt like hours, my mom was able to relax. Unfortunately, Barbara was not to fair as well.", "As my mother, Tony, Matt, and Shelley returned to their normal lives after this incident, Barbara spent most of her adolescent and adult life in a mental institution. She was so traumatized she could barely speak of what happened. When she did, all the pieces seemed to connect. A traveling cult has been residing in the cabin at the Campground for a few days or so. They were the type of cult that was notorious for their upside down cross insignia, but were never caught or detained because of their nomadic tendencies. When the group was walking to the Campground, one of the cult members, walking over to a tree to mark their infamous symbol, saw the group of teens, and decided to pick one out to be the perfect human sacrifice. Barbara was this unfortunate pick. While the rest of the teens were caught up in their own paranoia and scared thoughts, he snatched Barb and covered her mouth to keep her from screaming. He slashed her face and finalized the mark he made on the tree by smearing it with her blood. He almost thought one of the teens had seen him, for she (my mother) had looked directly into the woods, but did not see him. He took Barb back to the campsite. Barb still has not revealed exactly what they did to her, or how she escaped. When she did escape, along with the rest of the group, the police were conveniently at the park due to a call by one of the neighbors for the overwhelming odor of weed seeping through their windows. When the police investigated the Campground, the only thing remaining was the remnants of a campfire, dead animals surrounding the fire, and thirty or so burnt out torches scattered along the grounds. It is unknown how the cult members seem to disappear so fast, but one thing is for certain, my mother never returned back to the Campground.", "After my mother told me her experience, I promised her I would never do what she had.", "Now excuse me, I must go for I’m about to meet some friends at the local park. It seems like the perfect night to try something new. To have a more… dangerous… type of fun. I have my cell phone, a flashlight, and some weed as promised. As I walk out the door, I almost forget the most important item of the night. I quickly grab my black cloak and sneak silently out the door.", "I’m ready.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Hermit	https://www.creepypasta.com/hermit/	7.39	February 15, 2013	302	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "(Based on a real life premonition.)", "On the eve of his parents death Alex sat down at the dining table and poured himself a glass of crystalline red wine. He swirled it around in his mouth before swallowing and grimaced at sour grape-like taste that died on his tongue. Alex had never been much of a drinker ‘but then again’, he admitted to himself ‘I was always going to need some help today’. He shuffled in his seat lethargically to look at the dust-covered picture that hung from the wrought iron fireplace. In his mind he could see the hole that he had made in the sepia photo, burned through by three hundred and sixty five days of wonton staring.", "His folks were gone, ridden a car into the great here-after, and deep down he knew he’d have to accept it one of these days, but for Alex the grief had not faded.", "Far off in the depths of the oaken rafters a small snap resounded through the whole house. A clock chimed for one in the morning.", "Otherwise the house was deathly quiet, and for a young man scarcely out of his teenage years the absence of sound rang louder in his ears than his preferred drum and bass solos. He hadn’t felt like listening to music in a long, long while, or doing anything else for that matter except try and re-order his heat oppressed brain. An entire year had come and gone without Alex ever leaving the family home.", "Had Alex been born in any other time this would have been an impossible feat, as the hunter-gatherer instinct would have been his only recourse for daily nutrition but with the introduction of welfare cheques and cooked meals that could be delivered to your doorstep, Alex discovered he could withdraw from the world entirely. He could take up a permanent residence inside his head. Resigning himself to yet another evening of moroseness, Alex slumped down into his fathers old chair and felt for the familiar wrinkles in the leather or perhaps, if he were lucky, a handprint. The tragedy was that Alex had been a very active boy until his loss. How he used to run when his folks were still living. Alex remembered how he was able to for miles, and how proud it made his parents to see that Alex had placed a great deal of his time on fitness. ‘Great work ma boy’ his gruff old dad had said to him, a smile wide on his whiskered face. ‘We’ll make an athlete out of you yet, don-cha-know-it, only don’t forget your pa when you make it big!’", "Alex sat up, faster than any movement he had made in the past seven months. This was a waste of life, and it was only now, on the anniversary of his perpetuated misery had he come to realise it. ‘This wasn’t the way his parents wanted him to live’ he had thought, and he intended to put that straight. Alex pulled up his grey tracksuit and headed to the green front door. Stretching out a hand, Alex had begun to notice a few things that struck him as odd. Like how whenever he’d look over at his parent’s photo, he couldn’t see them like he could see himself. In the photo, Alex had seen, a pacemaker suspended a meter and a half in thin air. Just a smallish plastic and metal pump floating in front of a Yorkshire countryside backdrop, and floating above that was a set of wickedly grinning dentures. These were the non-organic parts of his father, that and his mothers’ replacement hip; toward the left side of the picture was all Alex could see of them now. Alex placed a hand on the brass handle, ready to feel the cold night air on his face.", "What had also seemed odd was that his memories of their deaths often changed. Sometimes he was sobbing uncontrollably into the sofa, allowing the phone to drop out of his hand when it called upon him to identify the bodies. Other times, he was there, out on the road, watching through a windscreen awash with streaky raindrops.", "No. No, that wasn’t right. Sometimes he felt like he wasn’t witnessing two bodies flying over the dashboard, and land crumpling into a broken heap some twenty yards away. Sometimes he felt like he had only seen one. The latch clicked but Alex held the door in place, the full terror of his circumstances gripping at his insides. He took a sharp, quiet breath inward and let the final thought drift through his mind.", "And sometimes it felt like he wasn’t moving his legs when he walked around the house, couldn’t remember how and when the delivery man had dropped off the takeaways, and why his internet was always dead.", "That word. Had he been on the road that night?", "Alex opened the door outward. And saw nothing. An inky black fog as far as he could fathom, was expanding and contracting in every direction. No houses, no cars, no street lamps. All Alex could see was a barren space, as wide as the imagination, and as blank as slate.", "Slowly, Alex closed the door on the infinite void and let the memories of the past nine minutes fade out from his mind. Just like always, it was too much to bear. So he forgot. He would always forget. And so for the 8,193,495,194th year in a row, Alex locked his front door, and walked back into purgatory.", "Credit To – Urbsun Psychic.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Forgotten Valentine	https://www.creepypasta.com/forgotten-valentine/	8.99	February 14, 2013	302	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "I had managed to keep a healthy scepticism of ghosts, ghouls and all things supernatural until I was 28. I found most claims of such things to be dubious at best, and harmful at worst. I was very much in the camp of the classical sciences as I had studied physics at Edinburgh university several years earlier. While my profession has never taken me back into the scientific arena, I had until this time maintained a ruthless opposition to pseudo-science and superstition.", "My friends often wonder about the change they saw in me at that time. What surprised them was that it wasn’t a slow, steady change of heart, but rather a complete turnaround over night; a transformation, if you will. It may have appeared as if it occurred so very quickly, but in fact it happened over a slightly longer time scale; two weeks to be precise.", "It was February, in fact it was the week of Valentine’s day. Around this time I was going through a socially isolated phase. It’s something which often happens in the bleak Scottish winters, where I become increasingly wrapped up in my own loneliness and passing bitterness at those who ‘fit in’. It was, and still is, a neurotic hangover from my teenage years, one which has plagued me for far too long.", "Two weeks earlier I had found myself wandering through the cobbled streets of Edinburgh to clear my head. Walking, as amusing as it may seem, has always been a great comfort to me. You are, in every sense, alone with your thoughts, but that part of you which craves the company of others is slightly appeased by being ‘in’ the world, even if you’re only in it long enough to share a glance with a passing stranger.", "Edinburgh is a very old city and has remarkably kept much of its former self. The cobbled streets meander down the steep side of what was once a volcano, breaking off sporadically into narrow lanes which occasionally open up into secluded court yards. These numerous court yards are often flanked on all sides by tall terraced houses, huddled together as if whispering of a secret and long forgotten past. The impressiveness of Edinburgh as a city is often lost on those who have lived there long enough to find beauty commonplace.", "As often happens when gripped by depression, I hadn’t been sleeping well. I had finished work the previous evening around 5pm and while I managed to get a few hours sleep, my mind just wouldn’t let me relax. Come 6 in the morning, even though it was a Sunday and I could for once have a long lie, I conceded defeat in my attempts to have a proper rest and got up to greet the world, however reluctantly.", "By the time I had set out it was still early morning and the cold January air stung my face. Although Edinburgh is, for want of a better expression, a tourist city, at that time it still seemed relatively deserted, even for a Sunday. A slight mist had risen out of the water of Leith making it feel all the more colder as I passed through the narrow lanes and down empty pavements, entirely oblivious to where I was going.", "As the shops opened and the first trickle of tourists bled out onto the cobbled walkways from their hotels, I deliberately headed for a quieter, often forgotten network of streets. My wandering mind had indeed taken over, for as I broke through the haze of a daydream I found myself standing at the gates of an old graveyard. I had been thinking of turning back and heading home, but something about this place awoke a compulsion in me; I had to explore it.", "I found it curious that the gates, constructed out of blackened steel rods, were lying unlocked as early in the day as this. Entering the cemetery, I immediately noticed the overall isolation of the place, enjoying the sound of gravel under my feet which pierced the silence, as I moved slowly along a path littered with small white stones.", "It wasn’t a large graveyard. It seemed to consist of two separate plots, with the older graves at the front, bordering the fence and gate, filing backwards up onto a diminutive nearby hill where the more recently deceased residents lay. The oldest graves bore the weathered scars of age, I found one which was dated 1776, but the epitaph was illegible. I felt a sadness staring at the headstone, wondering about who it belonged to and indulgently contemplating about myself as a forgotten or lost soul.", "Eventually I moved off, wandering up the hill towards the newer graves. I found myself drawn to a large old sycamore tree which loomed over several graves below it, with an almost protective demeanour. I stared at one of the headstones, reading the words but not registering them, as my mind was engulfed by yet another daydream. The grave stood out somewhat from those around it. The headstone was white in colour, while those which accompanied it were forged out of a deep, black marble.", "Without thinking, I ran my hand over the smooth stone feeling the occasional mark of the elements upon it. At the foot of the headstone lay a small, innocuous vase. It was made of a brownish metal (copper I assumed as the surface exhibited small veins which were blue in colour due to its exposure to the weather).", "As I stood there, something rose up out of my mind. Something which bothered me greatly. At first I did not know what it was, experiencing it merely as a low, growing sense of discomfort. As this feeling of unease reached a crescendo, I suddenly realised what was wrong.", "The name on the grave was Lisa Maine.", "I knew that name well, everyone in the local area did. I had known her when I was growing up, as we went to the same school together. She was someone that I watched from afar, full of life and exuberance, while I was shy, reclusive, and reserved. I possessed that intense infatuation and desire for her which only a first love can produce.", "The words on her headstone came into sharp focus; age 15. I was overcome with a tremendous sense of grief and loss, one which took me entirely by surprise, so much so that I had to leave that place; I just couldn’t bear it. As someone who prides himself on being level headed and immune to flights of fancy, I could not shake the profound unease which often comes with outrageous coincidence.", "I exited the graveyard as quickly as possible and headed home ignoring the now cluttered Edinburgh streets. I did not look back.", "Over the following few days or so I was preoccupied. I was overworked and was having trouble sleeping, but that was not unusual for me. What was unusual were the immovable thoughts and memories of Lisa Maine, thoughts which now stayed with me wherever I would go.", "I had been terribly affected by her death as we were only 15 years old at the time, but that was over a decade ago and I had not thought of her for many years. It was as if seeing that gravestone had awoken a sense of loss, a sense of pain which I had managed to bury so far deep inside of me, that I had persuaded even myself to forget it.", "A cacophony of memories now haunted me; beautiful and terrifying. At any one moment I would be exhilarated by the thought of her smile, her hair, her kindness, and at the very next engulfed by despair at the image of her lying under six feet of earth; cold and alone. Once full of life, now a decaying husk, which had long ago housed that beautiful soul.", "If I had told anyone of how I felt they would have called me overly emotional or sentimental, for the fact remained; I barely knew Lisa. Watching her for years across a classroom, I imagined myself talking with her, sharing those intoxicating moments which mean so much to a teenager; the first connection with someone you adore, the first feeling of being loved, the first kiss.", "I had in fact hardly ever spoken to her until only a few weeks before she died. In one of those embarrassing manoeuvres which teachers often pull, the pupils were all forcefully partnered with someone to take to our first social dance. Social dancing was a torrid affair. For someone like Lisa it was fun and to be enjoyed, while for me it was something to be detested. I was embarrassed, possessing none of the talent to be a dancer and even more so afraid to spend time with a girl, held back by my own teenage awkwardness.", "It was the end of January, and Lisa quickly set me at ease in social dancing class where we practised. I cannot convey the simultaneous sense of joy and fear which I felt when she asked me to walk her home that day. Some people find social interactions to be exhausting, much like myself always worried about saying the wrong thing, but some individuals can set others at ease with the smallest of effort; Lisa was one of those people. As we walked across an elegantly Victorian bridge towards her house, the winter sun bathed our surroundings in a cool, comforting glow. I couldn’t have been more content to be in the presence of this happy, kind hearted girl. She was so beautiful, with an incredible smile and golden locks of hair which seemed more at home in a fairytale than our surroundings.", "For weeks we walked the same route home every day. Talking, laughing (something I rarely did) and growing ever closer. When you are that age, everything is so potent. Most can fall in and out of love in a heart beat. I didn’t have many friends, and I lived alone with my mother who was not a particularly affectionate women, so in that short time I fell in love with Lisa Maine.", "On the 13th of February, we stopped outside her house. We stood talking for a moment and then for the first time Lisa became distant. She stared straight at me in a way that she had never done before. I felt uneasy, yet exhilarated. There was a moment, a tiny moment where we said nothing to one another, then she hugged me. Her fingers slid through my hair. I will never forget how sweet she smelled, how alive she felt, and how grateful I was to someone for showing me a kindness I had never previously known.", "Lisa slowly let go of me and then skipped up to her front door. Just before she disappeared she turned and smiled at me one more time. Then she was gone.", "Immediately I knew what I was going to do. For the first time in my life I was full of purpose and focus, a desire to do just one thing. I ran as fast as I could to the local shops. I was lucky as most of them were shutting up for the day. A kind old man who ran a rarely used card store allowed me in to his shop, even though he was just closing.", "I was going to buy my first Valentine’s card.", "It had to be perfect. It had to be just right. After looking at almost every card I could afford, I found one. It was fate. The card was red with a white circle in the middle. In that circle was a boy and girl walking hand in hand into the distance, together. I did not care what it said inside, because I have always had a way with the written word, and knew I could put something down which came from the heart. I bought it. After leaving the card shop I went straight into my local newsagents. I had kept aside my last two pounds. My mother gave me an allowance to buy my lunch at school every week, and I knew she would not give me more should I spend it. Despite it meaning I would have to go without lunch for a few days, I bought a box of chocolates to accompany the card.", "I rushed home, walked straight past my mother, who barely greeted me, grabbed a pair of scissors from the kitchen and went upstairs. I knew I would get into an unbelievable amount of trouble for it, but I didn’t care. I cut a slither of material from the red curtains hanging in my mother’s room and tied the makeshift ribbon around the box of chocolates. In my mind it now looked like a Valentine’s gift. I wrote in the card explaining how I felt about Lisa and how much those walks home had meant to me, signed it, sealed the envelope and slid it under the ribbon so it sat nicely with the chocolates.", "I waited for the next day. It came all too slowly.", "The 14th of February. I will never forget the excitement of getting ready for school. I took one last look at the chocolates and card before slipping them into my bag. I think I made it a little too obvious that I was carrying something important and delicate, as I cradled the whole bag in my arms for most of the day.", "I was so enthused, so focused that I was going to march straight up to Lisa and give her the gift without a care for what the others, some of whom could be very cruel, would think.", "But she was not there.", "She wasn’t in the playgrounds, she wasn’t in her classes. For the subjects we shared, I just sat and stared at her empty desk and chair. School finished and I found myself walking the same route Lisa and I would normally. I stood outside her house, holding the chocolates. I can’t describe the feeling I experienced there. Call it the effects of a lack of food or the exhaustion of having been so primed for the day, but anxiety took me and as a result I couldn’t bring myself to knock on her door. I went home, dejected. I couldn’t so much as eat a bite of the undercooked ham my mother threw down in front of me, so I simply went upstairs and crawled into bed, barely sleeping all night.", "For the next two days I walked that same route and found myself holding onto those chocolates, not daring to cross the threshold of the little white fence in front of Lisa’s house. On the third day I asked our teachers about Lisa’s absence, something which just hadn’t occurred to me to do. I associated any authority with being cold, distant, and unfair, and as a result normally avoided contact with my teachers at any cost. Mr Randall, our History teacher, told me that Lisa had come down with a bad fever and was very ill.", "She could be off for weeks.", "With this news I was resolute; I was going to knock on her door, and knock on her door was just what I did. I knocked, and knocked, and knocked, but no one answered. The next day I did the same, and again, no one answered.", "It had now been five days since I had last seen Lisa. It was a Saturday and, once again, I went over to Lisa’s house, chocolates and card in hand. As I approached her house, the sky clouded over, casting a dull hue over Lisa’s seemingly deserted street. It was clear to see that Lisa’s father was not a gardener. The garden path split an overgrown and patchy lawn in two with clambering weeds stretching up towards the sun through numerous cracks in the concrete slabs. I stopped to look around and focused my gaze on what seemed to be a smallish gnome figurine smothered in the undergrowth; it had sadly been broken.", "Many suggest that when something is wrong, a person knows. They may not be aware of precisely what has happened, but that they can almost feel a palpable sense of dread in the air. I looked around and continued towards the front door.", "Something was different.", "I was sure that the house had seemed as deserted as it had on the previous days I had visited, and while the house was for all intents and purposes exactly the same as before, there was one change. The front door was open. I was convinced that it had been shut when I had arrived, but I dismissed this as simply the by-product of my fascination with the condition of Lisa’s garden. You see, I can’t quite explain it, but there was something suffocating about that house on that quiet street.", "I reached the door and grasped the door knocker, chapping three times. No answer. I repeated my knocks more forcefully this time, but still no one came.", "The door was only slightly ajar and as such I couldn’t really see much of the interior. All I could tell was that the house was dark and that the air escaping through the doorway was musty, as if nothing had stirred inside for days. I started to feel nervous. I didn’t really know why.", "Clearing my throat, and stammering slightly I asked ‘hello?’ several times without answer. The street was empty and the whole place felt devoid of life. Then a thought began to ruminate and gather momentum within me. What if Lisa and her father were hurt? I started to play out all of the possibilities in my mind, the two of them lying somewhere in the house injured without food or water for days. Then I remembered that my History teacher had said Lisa was ill. He must have spoken to someone to know this, probably Lisa’s father. I hoped that she was not so sick that her father had taken her to hospital.", "Despite the logic of my thoughts, I still could not dismiss the horrible feeling that something was indeed wrong. Fear began to grip me, yet I closed my eyes only for a moment and found the memory of Lisa’s embrace all the solace I needed to overcome it. I held on tightly to the card and chocolates as I pushed the door fully open. It moved silently, but I was sure the noise of it hitting a doorstop on the floor would alert anyone to my presence as the bang echoed throughout the house, but still no one came.", "The house was bathed in darkness.", "I took one last look around me and crossed the threshold. While Lisa did not come from an affluent family, the house had an upstairs and must have had at least four bedrooms with an attic. Perhaps the fact that Lisa was an only child made the house seem all the larger or emptier, but as I slowly made my way down the hallway, I felt as if each footstep echoed throughout distant passages and rooms.", "Beginning with the living room on the ground floor, I moved from room to room occasionally asking if anyone could hear me, but I quickly became aware that I was only talking to myself. The air was stiflingly hot and running my hand across a radiator I realised that the boiler must have been on for some time.", "As I moved into the kitchen at the rear of the house, I heard something. It was an almost rhythmic dull thudding. I couldn’t identify what it was, but I knew it was coming from somewhere upstairs. I left the kitchen, which I was glad to do as it was filled with the smell of rotting food, and walked to the foot of the stairs.", "The staircase was quite narrow and ran along the inside of a wall. At the top of the stairs was a landing which curved round to the left and led onto the other rooms. The dull thudding was now more pronounced and as I slowly climbed the stairs the same fear which had gripped me at the door returned. The realisation of wandering into someone’s house uninvited came to the fore. Stopping for a moment, I closed my eyes and thought of Lisa again. I continued on.", "As I reached the top of the stairs, the thudding noise stopped; I shudder now even just thinking of it. There were three doors leading to the other bedrooms and one leading to a bathroom which I could already see was empty. The door to the first bedroom lay open. I peered in slowly almost expecting to find someone there. There was no one. It was Lisa’s father’s room, neat, organised, with almost no objects of any note. The only curiosity was that the curtains were not drawn.", "The door to the second room was closed. Again, I was overcome with a sense of intrusion. I was walking around inside someone’s house without invitation. In effect, I was a trespasser. I knocked on the door quietly. Waiting for a moment I realised the room must be empty and turned the brass handle on the door. It opened. As I pushed the door it creaked and then suddenly stopped after only a few inches of movement. Something was behind the door. I pulled it towards me and then pushed again, but no luck. With each attempt the wooden door bashed off of something. I suddenly became aware of the noise I was making as each attempt echoed throughout the house. It was not dissimilar to the thudding I had heard before.", "I tried one more time, pushing against the obstacle as hard as I could. No luck. I was about to give up and move on to the next door when I saw what was blocking my entrance. I will never forget the cold glassy stare of the face which seemed to be peeking out from behind the bottom of the door. The skin a pallid grey, a few retreating locks of hair covering an otherwise balding head, globules of sweat congealed under. Most of its features were obscured by the door, but the only visible eye still stared, clouded and covered in shadow.", "I didn’t scream because I quickly realised that not only was this the face of Lisa’s father, but that he was very much dead. I felt numb, but looking back I realise I handled the situation much more calmly than many of my age would have, but then I did have a strange fascination for such things, reading many accounts of quite horrific death scenes.", "I stared for a moment, composed myself, and then instantly turned to thoughts of Lisa and where she might be. Was she in the same room? Was she in the attic? All I could hope for was that she was OK.", "Something then happened. An event which I have to this day repressed, ignored, and avoided as much as I possibly could. Something which shook me to the core. Something which I have never told a soul.", "The face staring up at me through that gloom filled gap in the doorway, moved. At first it was only slight and I disregarded it as the effects of shock. Then it moved again. Suddenly the door began to shake violently as if being punched and kicked by the body lying behind it. The head turned upwards as the cracking of rigamortis from the neck struggled against each sharp and vicious movement. A putrid gurgling sound gasped out, enraged from deep within its bloated throat.", "I closed my eyes. I was sure it was not real. The banging stopped, and the house fell once again into silence.", "I let out a sigh of relief and opened my eyes. What I saw I can barely describe now. The face had moved upwards from behind the door to be level with mine. The door shook and rattled under the strain as its venomous attacker tried to claw and batter its way through. Finally, the face pushed and squeezed through the gap in the door, revealing its repulsively loathsome features in their entirety.", "Dead, swollen with clotted blood, gasping relentlessly for air, all the time staring straight at me through hate filled eyes with lips pulled back over teeth gritted together, grinding against one another in wretched hatred.", "I do not remember much of what took place after that, perhaps I am glad to. I know I escaped, and I know that I ran home confused, crying, and babbling like a madman. I also know one more thing, while the memory has been pushed so deep inside that I can barely recognise it, I know whatever was in that room slipped through the gap in that doorway; slipped through and grabbed me. How I escaped I do not know.", "The truth was more horrifying than I could have imagined. Lisa’s father had lost his job a couple of weeks earlier and as bills mounted combined with the pressures of looking after his only child, he snapped. When the police entered the house they found poor, sweet Lisa’s body in the cellar. Her wrists were tied to a radiator. She had been strangled to death. After killing his daughter, Lisa’s father had then went upstairs and hanged himself in her room. After a few days of hanging there, the cord he used to choke the life from himself seemed to have snapped. The police found his body slumped behind the bedroom door. The door was open.", "As time eroded the memory, the explanation of these events altered greatly. Through my years of study at school and then University, I read of psychological pressures and how trauma could bring about vivid hallucinations. I had convinced myself that I had found Lisa’s father dead and that the shock had produced the rest of the experience. No matter how real it felt, the idea that a corpse twisted by rage and hate, perhaps even by the love I felt for his daughter, could somehow come back to life and attack the living, just did not fit in with my scientific and atheistic understanding of the world.", "I dismissed the entire experience, but one thing had still managed to haunt me until I managed to hide it from myself. The police reported that Lisa had been tied up for a couple of days before she was killed.", "The date of her death was recorded as the 15th of February.", "She had been in that cellar, tied up, frightened yet alive when I had come by to give her her Valentine’s gift. People talk about hauntings and spirits, but the memory of that contorted face rising up through the doorway was nothing compared to the knowledge that had I went into her house that day, that maybe, just maybe I could have saved her. Yes I was a child, but I could have done something!", "I grew up, but I never felt that love again, that feeling of connection with another human being. I developed an unhealthy attachment to my own company and found myself more interested in burying my head in textbooks than perhaps meeting others, or even falling in love. The friends that I did have were never that close to me, nor did they ever truly understand who I was.", "Seeing Lisa’s grave had brought it all flooding back to me. Those stolen moments, that thing in the house, her death. The funny thing is that of all those memories, both traumatic and precious, the one thought which would not leave me was of the Valentine’s gift I never gave. While I still hoped that the dead thing in Lisa’s house was of my own imagination and that the world was still very much material, lacking in the spiritual, I still felt the need to rectify this.", "I had kept the card all those years, in many ways it was both my most cherished and loathed possession. Cherished for the memories which it drew up from within me, and loathed for the same reason. On the morning of the 14th I walked through the cobbled streets of Edinburgh towards Lisa’s resting place, on the way I stopped at a little newsagents and picked up a box of chocolates.", "On my first visit I had wandered there by accident, vaguely negotiating each street in a daze, but this time I was focussed and resolute. Sentiment is a curious thing and it had encouraged me to keep, not only the card, but also the ribbon I made for the chocolates. When I entered the graveyard I gazed up towards that lonely hill where she lay. I felt hesitant. Not because I did not want to leave the gifts by her graveside, but more so because I did not know the extent to which the feelings of remorse, sadness, and bitter nostalgia would overcome me again. Nevertheless, I took a moment and then made my way up over the whitened path, up towards the hill, up towards her.", "There I stood. The sun was still relatively low in the sky and it cast long, contorted and exaggerated shadows over everything. After standing there for what seemed like an age, I pulled out the ribbon, tied it carefully around the box and then placed the chocolates and the card against the cold headstone.", "I don’t know if I said anything. At the time I probably didn’t as I was still convinced that she wasn’t there to hear me; that once your loved ones pass away, they are gone forever; that death is the end. I do know that I cried. I cried like I hadn’t since I was a child. I fell to my knees and buried my head in my hands. I was inconsolable.", "Those moments of utter sadness, utter despair at the cruelness of life and what it had done to beautiful Lisa were the last I had as a true sceptic, for as I knelt there the wind blew gently through the graveyard; gently caressing those stone markers of loss and those who attended them.", "I had heard and read about people having a religious or spiritual experience, and while I cannot truly accept others’ testimonies, I can say that what I felt at that moment was profound; an achingly beautiful feeling of companionship and love. I looked around. No one was there, but I felt that someone was. I tried to shake the feeling off as my mind simply playing tricks on me, but no matter how much I tried to stick to that interpretation of events, I simply could not do it. That feeling shared a twin emotion. I had only once ever felt that way before; when Lisa hugged me the last time I saw her. As the sensation washed over me, I realised that I had truly been searching for that same feeling again, but never found it until that moment.", "I stood up, wiped my eyes and touched the gravestone as if to say goodbye. I walked to the graveyard entrance with a smile which stretched from ear to ear, something anyone who knows me will tell you is extremely unusual. When I reached the gate I glanced once more at that hill, which for me was no longer a site of loneliness, but one of love and friendship.", "The second and last time I can say I have ever seen a ghost was at that moment, for standing up on the hill beside Lisa’s grave was the blurry image of a young girl in a pink social dancing dress. I did not run to the grave, because I knew I did not have to. She waved slowly at me and then disappeared behind her gravestone.", "I walked home. I felt full, joyful, and exuberant. It is almost impossible to describe that experience by the graveside, perhaps completeness will do for now, but even that cannot convey it.", "Friends wonder what happened to me around that time. The truth is that I found something I did not know was missing. Some reading this may think that I found my faith, but it was not that at all. What I found that day was companionship and acceptance from the only person I had ever truly loved. I knew from that day onwards that the world was a far more mysterious and wonderful place than I could ever have possibly imagined. I knew that I would never fear being alone, for when I go wandering through the streets of Edinburgh and find myself on a quiet stretch of road, I smile to myself knowing that if I listen carefully I can hear the footsteps of Lisa, that girl I loved so dearly when I was a child, walking with me wherever I go.", "Credit: [field writtenby] (Official Website • Amazon • Facebook • Twitter • YouTube • Patreon • WattPad • SmashWords)", "This story was submitted to Creepypasta.com by a fellow reader. To submit your own creepypasta tale for consideration and publication to this site, visit our submissions page today.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Eugene’s Yacht	https://www.creepypasta.com/eugenes-yacht/	6.16	February 13, 2013	302	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "I’ve been watching Eugene constantly for about a year now, and if I’ve learned anything in that time at all, it’s that my future plans wouldn’t be easy. Eugene was a smart, devious man. He always seemed to know what was going on, what he needed to do, and who he needed to “take care” of. His constant goal was simple: Be at the top, and kick anyone down who tries to climb their way up. He was respected by his allies, and more importantly, feared by his oppressors.\nHe did, like all the greater men today, have a weakness. You see, my observations of him weren’t just restricted to my daily office environment, where he and I both conveniently work at. I watched him drive his luxurious Mercedes back from work most days. I watched him walk out of the most prestigious nightclubs and party houses. I watched him take rides along the bay in his prized, multimillion dollar yacht, which is considered to be his trademark investment.", "However, I watched him become successful from the beginning, or at least become rich. He was part of a well known, high-class family that had a history of business, talent, and of course, crime. He wasn’t always at the state he is now. While he did live a spoiled and comfortable childhood, he lived life almost like I have. He was an average man working in the same office I did. However, I never was fond of him even before he became what many call “king of the city”. He was arrogant, always thought himself above others. He didn’t care about your achievements or future plans, and he would always push you aside if you so much as stepped in the way of his. Once his father and mother died in an “accident” involving a helicopter crash, he was believed to be unstoppable in most eyes. He was still arrogant, however, and I would use this to my advantage.", "I have a reason for my hatred towards him. You see, my wife is – sorry, was – a detective for the Vancouver Police Department. Dangerous work, no doubt, but can be a death wish if you get involved in Eugene’s plans. When Eugene’s parents died in the helicopter crash, everyone expected he was involved in some way, but there was direct proof of it. Unlike everyone else, my wife, who happened to have seen Eugene suspiciously walking away from the helicopter before takeoff, decided to try to expose Eugene’s actions. I warned her not to do it, but she saw it as an opportunity for recognition and reward. The only award she received was a cut to the throat. I know it was either the action of Eugene, or someone hired by him. I can only hope that her death was quick, that she wasn’t tormented for by his hands. I’ve had nightmares that have plagued my mind that have convinced myself otherwise. Let’s just say that they have made me a different man.", "It was at this moment that I snapped. My dislike of Eugene had turned into an inferno of vengeance that the ocean itself couldn’t expel. I began to watch him any moment I could. Many times at the office, I found it difficult to sometimes restrain my anger, and my thoughts to impale his eye with a pen. I knew, however, that the only way I could hope to achieve my revenge would be in a way of stealth, of subtleness. I needed to exploit one of Eugene’s few weaknesses. Be there when he slips, and then cease to make him breath.", "What could I do though? I was only a simple, 27 year old average man, working in an above average office space. What skills did I have in murder? Could I just wait until Eugene stumbles into a dark alley? No, he always has bodyguards when walking the streets. Could I raid his high-class estate and get him in his sleep? No, his security is probably top-notch. Could I sink his multimillion dollar yacht to the bottom of the coastline while he’s on his weekend sail? Wait………I could. Never has I thought of the idea until that moment, but I actually could. He liked to have some space when he sails. He liked to take some time away from the popularity, the security, and the pressure of all his opponents. He takes this time away in the form of his yacht trips. I know, I’ve seen him do it many times, all in the same way. He would board the boat (usually with a woman, sometimes two), sail out to the coast (far out to the point where he can hardly been seen from the shore), and then stay away for the rest of the days, until the weekend is over.", "The more I thought about these truths, the more I thought the plan was possible, and the more I thought it possible, the more I began to laugh. Along with this, what I found the most… strange, however, was how I heard a faint voice in my head, laughing with me. I couldn’t make it out at first, but, looking back at it, it sounded very similar to my wife’s laugh, if my wife was an eager psychopath about to start a massacre in the downtown streets. Was I going insane with my plan? Perhaps, but then again, I could already be insane before I thought the idea. The way I’m going right now, however, I don’t see that too much of a problem.", "Well, back on topic. So, I evolved my sudden flicker of an idea into a bright, glowing, and functioning plan. The talk of the building, which I always listened to, was that Eugene was going to take a slightly extended voyage on his yacht at the end of the month, starting May 23rd and returning the 27th. The day the began the plan was the 20th. Considering the materials and planning required of this plan, I had very limited time. What did I need to do though? I could just as easily sneak on his mostly unguarded yacht (where Eugene ironically believes he most safe), and kill him quickly with a simple kitchen knife or cheap Saturday night special.", "No. It can’t be that simple. I don’t want him to just die in a quick moment of pain and demise. I want him to suffer, to fear every moment of his impending doom, and then parish in a way he would never expect coming. Sinking his yacht, along with his treasures onboard, his few guards, and all his successful history on that trip is a perfect way to do so.", "With the few day’s I had, I examined the boat at the marina. I made sure I hastily logged and mapped every opening and point of the boat. Every door, every balcony, every ladder, every window. No spot was spared. I made appointment’s with some of the street dealers, and obtained cheap, homemade, but effective explosives. I also bought a knife and a silenced .45, just in case I need to get my hands a little dirty with a guard. I don’t plan to though, I don’t want to kill until the moment is right. As a final part of the planning, I listened in on some of Eugene’s phone calls and conversations to know exactly who will be on the yacht at the right time.", "The night of the departure, I ran the numbers a final time: One rich bastard, one woman, four guards, two butlers, one boat pilot, one angered and possibly crazed assailant, and hopefully by the end, one capsized yacht. It was time to put the plan to action.", "It was the 23rd, 10:00 at night. I had set the explosives under the boat the night before. Eugene always preferred to depart in the late evening, possibly to enjoy some nightlife before departing. As he boarded his boat, I laughed quietly, but confidently. Eugene had walked obliviously onto an explosive-riddled yacht, which would began to sink rapidly at the push of a button. I made sure I laughed secretly because he was also unaware that I was inside the yacht’s lifeboat. He of course didn’t suspect this, as his arrogance and confidence in his yacht trips always makes his brilliant side blind.", "Once the boat was about a mile offshore, I began my work. I sneaked my way into the pilots control room. I slithered behind the pilot, and like a rogue train smashed his head into the control wheel. His dazed body fell to the floor, as the control of the yacht rested in my vengeful, shaking hands. I set the vessel to constantly travel north, out to sea until the rest of my plan would be accomplished.", "I then waited until Eugene called down everyone for a late dinner brake. The few people on the yacht would gather in the dinning room, drink, and have a good time before the guards and servants returned to their posts. All except for the pilot, who was required to stay at control until the guards secured the area again. When everyone was present in the room, I barred all the doors that led to freedom. I didn’t need to worry about the windows, as all were closed and Eugene had them bulletproofed years ago, feeling the need for at least some security.", "I fled to the lifeboat with all my stamina. There was no more need for stealth, just haste. Once I dived to the small boat, lowered to the water, and got myself around twenty feet away, I took a few deep breaths, and then pushed the detonator for the explosives.", "A loud force from underneath the surface could be heard, and then large amounts of bubbles began to excrete around the edge of the boat. I heard a few startled screams at first, then silence, and then screams of turmoil and fear as the boat began to become consumed by water. The passengers screamed as yacht dragged down into the water, as if it was a dammed soul being forcefully taken to hell. They tried to break the windows, but continued to panic as Eugene’s poor planning said otherwise.", "In one of the yacht’s last moments, Eugene looked out of one of the last surfaced windows, and he spotted me. He an I exchanged hateful glares for a quick moment. The look I witnessed in his face was brief, but it’s one I will remember for the remainder of my life. It was a look of recognition, of remembrance, of regret. But most of all, it asked a question: How the hell did a man like this get the best of me? Perhaps, he found the answer to that question in the little time he had left.", "Eugene, along with everyone else on that boat, was never found. Neither was the yacht for that matter. I had made preparations to make sure it wouldn’t be recovered. Because of the remoteness of the boat, and the depth of the coastline, it was remained suspected that Eugene’s yacht was lost at sea during a storm, which actually happened the day after my actions. I suppose that was lucky on my part.", "Sitting here in my apartment now, thinking about the event, I can’t help but think of the life I destroyed. I took a life with great potential, a life that had many turns, many moments of struggle, and moments of success and victory. Eugene could have even gone to the status of President if he had put the effort in. He was feared, respected, and in some cases, loved. The more I think about it, the more it begins to make me laugh. The more I laugh, the more I hear the faint voice of my wife begin laugh with me.", "Credit To – Richard C. Southard", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Veiled Girl	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-veiled-girl/	7.31	February 12, 2013	302	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "In 1998, I was in grade 7 of school and undergoing a disorienting move from Manitoba to a small town on the boarder of Arkansas and Oklahoma. I wasn’t used to the lack of buildings, and in turn, lack of places to go. The town’s main road led straight through it’s center and consisted of a few restaurants, a shanty motel, and some shopping centers. Beyond that, the only source of entertainment was a bowling ally and a movie theatre that always seemed a few months behind.", "My refuge as an only child from my parents were the mounds of dirt and half-built houses that were strewn throughout my developing neighborhood. I would jump from hill to hill as a giant monster or act like I was on the moon. The houses served as secret lairs, caves, and space stations. Every day was a new adventure and going home was simply a reset. The next day always held new things to discover. I tried to enjoy this as much as I could because I started school the next week. I wasn’t sure why my family had to move in the middle of March break, but at least I got a fresh start.", "That Saturday, we invited over the family across the street. The dinner my mother spent an hour on consisted of a roast with vegetables. We all happily enjoyed it. I sat in on the conversations that conspired later that evening. The family involved the mother and father of a recently adopted child, a girl of 12. She stayed home due to the fact that she was still adjusting to her new life. And that was the end of it. They went home without a word more of the mysterious girl as if they were offended in her mentioning. One would think, an adoption is something worth talking about. No such case.", "Sunday came about, and church came with it. A morning where silence and good behavior were expected and I had to wear my scratchy, button-up shirt. We sat in the third pew on the left. The family we met yesterday was there. They sat in the back corner against the wall keeping their heads down while constantly surveying the room. Between the two of them sat a third, smaller person. They wore a short yellow dress and little black shoes that shimmered from the light coming in the window. It was the girl, or so I assumed, she was covered by a white, embroidered blanket over her head and face. I continually looked back at them tying to be as inconspicuous as possible to get a good look at them. The couple seemed to be clenching the wrists of the girl, restraining her from getting up, though she wasn’t struggling to break free. She didn’t even seem phased by the sheet that segregated her from the world. She just sat, stone still. I heard murmurings from behind me saying she was a demon spawn, but I disregarded this, it being church and people can be overly superstitious. They didn’t twitch as the congregation left the chapel. They were waiting to see the priest for something. As I walked by, however, I took a final glance at them. The mother was looking at the front of the church, the father stared at the ground, and through the sheet that separated us, the girl was looking at me.", "After dinner that Sunday, there was to be another hour of light and my mother allowed me outside for a short time. As usual, I ran to my favorite house. It was different in that it’s spindly frame supported a solid ceiling and thus an attic I could climb up into. There were a few cracks between the plywood boards that sealed the attic from the cooling Spring air, allowing razors of light inside. I had only found it two days ago, but I hadn’t been anywhere since. Upon my initial entry that Friday, it was a little creepy having so little light inside as opposed to the other houses, but it quickly became an atmosphere where my imagination could run ramped.", "This day, however, returned me to that initial feeling of something watching me in the dark expanse. This was partially due to the time of day, but mostly the days experience with the girl. Her hidden stare gave me chills from the thought of being seen by one who could not be seen. I would not sleep that night, not because of what happened but what was to happen yet. I went to the attic. It was dark, very dark. There were slivers of soft blue light that entered the cracks and they obstructed my view of the opposite side of the room. However, without the visual evidence, I could hear something across from me. It was the sound of… squishing, crunching, popping.", "At my feet, there were shreds of white cloth crawling around my feet in the eddies of wind. I backed against the slanted wall on my left and began to get closer. My visibility slowly grew stronger as I approached, one by one breaking through the moonlight walls. I couldn’t see fully until I was only a few feet away. I passed through the final beam of light to reach the dark corner. I should have ran away from the start to shield myself from the evil I was about to witness. But how was I to know? The thing that was there in the corner was small, yellow and had long black hair running down it’s back. I call her a “thing” because she did not look fully human. Her face was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen, and to this day. A wide, darkly rimmed mouth was spread across the bottom half of her head. The lower portion of her nose was gone; ripped off and gushing blood. And above this mess, lay two gaping holes where her eyes once rested. Disturbing further was her lower half. Her legs, her legs were gone; torn from her body in a brutal manner. It was horrible that someone would do this to her. At least, I wished someone had done it contrary to the horrible fact that she did it to herself.", "That sound I initially heard had stopped the moment I saw her. Between her chewed-off fingers was a leg, one of two. As it dripped and oozed it’s blood in a shimmering pool, the girl was turned away from it. She was looking at me again. Hollow head. Smile wide.", "I don’t know how long I stood there, but I ran home. I didn’t utter a word to my parents as I charged by them to my room. I just went to bed and cried. The paper the next morning reported a maimed girl being found.", "The story was altered, but I knew the truth.", "Credit To – Charles M", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Good Morning, Daddy	https://www.creepypasta.com/good-morning-daddy/	7.29	February 11, 2013	302	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "This all started with simple, little events. They were the kind of things that you question for a moment, and let pass without too much thought. I’ll start from the beginning:", "It was a warm Saturday morning in spring. Saturdays were always early days for me, since my daughter loved to wake up early for cartoons and cereal, seeing as she was only 5, it wasn’t surprising that she couldn’t fully appreciate sleeping in on the weekends. At first, this Saturday was no different from the rest. Kaiya came into my room, kissed me on the cheek, and woke me up with a pleasant, “Good morning daddy!” I stirred a bit, and told her to go ahead and get Doc, our dog, some food while I got up.", "My wife had already left for school, so there was no one save Kaiya to keep me from drifting back into a light sleep. When I woke again, I left the bedroom and went to the living room to check on Kaiya, since she’d been waiting for me to get her breakfast. When I got there though, the Television was not on, the dog had no food, and Kaiya was nowhere to be found.", "I checked her room, thinking she may have gone back to play with her toys while she waited for me, but when I opened her door, I found her asleep in her bed. This was odd, as she never goes back to bed in the mornings, but I shrugged it off and got her out of bed for breakfast and cartoons. She opened her eyes, smiling, and said “Good morning daddy”. The rest of the day passed with no trouble.", "The next weekend, everything was normal, Kaiya did not go back to bed after waking me up, and we spent the morning watching cartoons. The normalcy was short lived though. That afternoon, I was in the driveway working on my car while Kaiya read in her room. I had the car up on a jack and was pulling the oil pan when I heard little feet run by. At first I smiled, Kaiya was always curious about anything I was doing. I could hear doc barking from the window, which was the first alarm as he was generally a quiet dog. Then I watched as Kaiya’s little pink converse ran up to the side of the car, stood still for a moment, then reared back and slammed the jack out from underneath. I pulled myself from underneath the car, but Kaiya was nowhere to be found.", "I was furious! I stormed inside, doc was still barking at the window, running around franticly. I flung open Kaiya’s door and began to yell, “What the hell do you think you were doing!? You could have killed me! You’re DONE for the day, DO NOT LEAVE THIS ROOM! Understood?”. She set down her book and gave me a puzzled look. “Daddy, I haven’t left my room at all.” I didn’t care to listen to her, but thinking back now I wish I had. I wish I hadn’t been to furious to think about the converse, the laces, and the fact that she was not wearing them when I burst into her room.", "I explained everything to my wife that night, since I wasn’t too badly injured, she convinced me to chalk it up to a curious little girl’s accident. The daylight was almost gone, and we decided to go out for dinner. Kaiya couldn’t find her converse anywhere, not on the shoe rack, in the living room, or on the porch. After a bit of looking we found them neatly placed and untied in her closet. This was another thing I wish I had put some more thought into.", "Now before I bring you up to speed, let me explain a few things. Kaiya, though smarter than the average five year old, was easily frustrated with learning new things. The most important of these being tying her shoes. She hadn’t figured the whole process out yet, and with that came untying her shoes. She usually just pulled them off and left the laces tied up. Another piece I wish I had taken into more consideration was Kaiya’s fascination with mirrors, and her recent ramblings about her imaginary friend. She would go on about how her friend thought that she was so pretty, and wanted to be just like her.", "Back on topic now: The next few months went by without any major issues. A few more oddities like Kai’s shoes going missing for a day, or thinking I saw Kai on her bed, reading during the week, when I knew that during the week she was with her mother. A few mornings I woke up to knives out of place, the back door wide open, or the gas stove left on, but disregarded these things as the wife’s forgetfulness on her way out to school.", "Now to explain how we got here, to this point, with me, locked inside my bedroom. This weekend, Kaiya’s mother asked to keep her for some family Christmas parties, which I agreed to since Kaiya does not have much family on my side to visit. I took advantage of this to get some extra sleep in. As I was lying in bed, half awake, half asleep. I could faintly hear doc barking in the kitchen. The bedroom door opened slowly with a muffled creak, and little footsteps walked towards my side of the bed. I kept my eyes closed, and tried to convince myself it was just doc coming in to remind me he needed food. I felt a small kiss on my cheek, I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes and there was Kaiya, smiling down at me. “Good morning, Daddy.”", "I gave the thing a forced half smile, and asked her to wait in the living room. I think it’s aware that I know. I can see the wife’s car still in the drive way, and it’s started clawing at the door. Doc has stopped barking, and I fear the blood running under the door is his. The clawing, the giggling, those damned shoes!", "The clawing stopped, and a soft, quiet whisper comes from behind me. “Good morning, Daddy!”", "Credit To – Michael (Balnorn) Fletcher", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Wretch of Weed Park	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-wretch-of-weed-park/	7.82	February 10, 2013	303	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Well, here I am. 2 A.M on a damn school night. Lying in bed, unable to sleep again, on my laptop, writing this. I’m writing to get my story out, to let someone know what happened. Because lord knows I can’t speak about this to anyone around here.", "I live in a small-ish town situated directly on the ‘nose’, if you will, of Iowa, where the Mississippi bends back towards the center of the states. I’m not going to give the name of the town. However, If you want to do some research, I’m not going to stop you.", "There is a park located on the edge of the town. It’s pretty popular. There are a lot of houses there, a small kid’s area, an aquatic center, some tennis courts, bike trails, and the Community College campus. Flowers are abundant in the park, and the city takes good care to make sure the display of colorful and well-kempt flowers stay that way. There is also the husk of what used to be a zoo, which housed an array of animals, from cobras to monkeys.", "This park has always been a big part of the community, and there are several well-known structures in the area, which are used or mentioned in some way or another. Which is strange why no one ever talks about the bandstand.", "The bandstand is a large stone gazebo fixed on the very edge of the main flat, which is used for nothing. Nothing ever happens there. No bands play. They used to, but not anymore. It’s about 8 feet in height where the ground is the highest up around it, 20 feet across in any given direction, and octagonal in shape. There is a cone-like roof over the top of the structure.", "When I said that the bandstand gets no use, it may have been a slight exaggeration. Every so often a group of stoners or just some kids will drag a park bench over, hop on top of it, and crawl up into the thing. I’ve been up there myself, as a group of friends and I often parkour, and it is a prime site. We’ve become pros at getting up into it without the assistance of park benches. There isn’t much up there. Usually it is filled with faded chalk writings from previous groups of teenagers, who also leave the box behind for the next group to leave their mark. But, that’s it. No officials ever use the place. The gothic-style gate to the entry stairs is chained and locked with an old-style iron lock. It’s rusty and dingy. When you are up in the bandstand, you can go down the stairs. They gently wind down around the center structure. When you reach the bottom, you can look out at your friends or whatever dumb shit you may be doing with a gate. But, at the end of the landing platform, to your left if you are looking out, is a door.", "The door is solid iron. Or steel, fuck, I don’t know. Metal. Solid, hard, cold, black metal. It’s about 5 feet tall, rather short. It is chained several times over. It’s locked with the same old gothic lock as on the gate. It appears to not have been opened for 60 years. There is rust, spider webs, dust, and all manners of grime and disgustingness covering it. I’ve never seen or heard about anyone using this door for anything. It’s just… There. Peeking, staring out from the gate into the open, forlorn.", "The first real encounter I had with this door was during a film project I was working on. At the time, I was a junior in high school. It was for an art scholarship. I had decided after many failed comedy scripts to make it a horror short film, a generic slasher/stalker/silent-scary-guy-moving-when-you-aren’t-looking film. The antagonist was named “Reaves”, a man whose face was terribly scarred and who wore a dark grey business coat with a hoodie underneath. I made the prosthetic mask and provided the costuming. It was an extremely low-budget film, but it was sort of meant to be. It was first person, “Blair Witch” style, probably a bad call. The center of the story was this door. This black, solid metal door that never moves, that is rarely looked upon, that is hardly recalled in even the most stoic of memories. Reaves emerges from the door to wreak havoc on the group of teenage filmers meddling with a power beyond their comprehension. The film never went anywhere. I submitted several graphic design and digital media projects instead.", "But this door… The door which has no name. The door which is neglected and rejected and left to rot in it’s own filth and bile… It fascinated me. I had always kind of looked and hoped for something spectacular in this world full of normal. Something that would inspire wonder, or maybe fear; a monster, a hidden place full of magic, a new sort of species of talking animal, something. But I’m reaching a point in life where I must put those childish hopes of wonder and adventure to rest. Or so I thought.", "I tried to research this door. The door which is called nothing. And that is what I found. Nothing. No specifics. Nothing. I had asked around my immediate peers. My mom said it was probably used for decoration storage. Chained? And this thing hadn’t been opened for decades. And it is solid metal. I don’t think decorations were in mind when this place was made.", "I figured I would just investigate this door myself. So, I grabbed a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and a stethoscope my mom had in her med kit (she is an RN). I decided it would be a good idea to go into that wretched obelisk and spend the night, gathering whatever information I could about the door that captivated me. It was so fascinating. It was just amazing. The door was wonderful. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It with no name.", "This was the worst idea I have ever had. When I was younger I swiped some nudie mags with a friend from his dad. Up until that night that was the worst thing I had ever done. But no… The door yielded results that I could have never imagined. The log below contains details that I recorded in a journal during my time in the gazebo.", "8:00 P.M – I arrive. Nothing is happening. It’s dusk, and people are beginning to leave the park. I lay low, watching for any possible staff driving by, as the park technically closes at 10.", "9:00 P.M – It’s dark now. The only light is from a street light about 40 feet away. It hardly reaches the bandstand. The air is chilly. I can say that I am genuinely uncomfortable, even despite being within the line of sight of at least 9 different households.", "10:00 P.M – The park is “closed”. I put quotes around closed because there are no gates or anything to make the park literally closed. I have been listening to music since I got up here. It is about 40 degrees out.", "10:30 P.M – I can’t hold out any longer. I creep down the stairs to the door which isn’t recalled. I tap on the door and hear a clear echo inside. Nothing out of the ordinary.", "11:00 P.M – I grabbed my stethoscope. I put it up to the glorious door. I heard nothing. I decided to hold my position while tapping and manipulating the chains on the door.", "12:00 A.M – I’ve heard something. I… I can’t believe it, but I heard something inside. Nothing otherworldly, though. I heard a faint sound, which I concluded was the sound of bees.", "12:10 A.M – I still hear the bees. It started suddenly around midnight. Just… The sound of bees. Maybe three or four of them. I don’t know.", "12:30 A.M – Bees. Bees. Bees. Buzz. Bees. I’m really tired…", "1:00 A.M – The bees stopped, finally. Fuck, I mean, shit. I listened to the bees for a whole hour. Now there is nothing in there. Nothing. How did bees even get in there? There is literally an airtight seal on this door. No other point of entry into that area exists.", "3:00 A.M – I think I heard something.", "3:30 A.M – I really think I heard something.", "3:45 A.M – That was something. There was something in there. I heard something.", "3:50 A.M – Shit, it’s only been five motherfucking minutes. It feels like it’s been an hour.", "4:00 A.M – There was fucking something in there. I heard something. It heard it. It was a whisper. One word, unintelligible. One word. I don’t know what it said; I could hardly make it out. It was low, harsh, and raspy. Fuck me, fuck me… What am I doing here? Is this real? Just calm down, calm down. It was nothing. You’re tired, you’re cold, go to sleep.", "10:00 A.M – I’m awake now. I still think I heard something, but I’m not delusional anymore. I’m rested up.", "10:10 A.M – I found a dead bee in my sleeping bag. Someone has to be fucking with me. A single dead bee. I’m done here, I’m going home.", "I get scared easily. I’ve been called “Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s” on occasion. I was terrified that night. It was a little over a year ago. And shit, I wouldn’t be here if things hadn’t acted up again. My lord, what have I done, fucking with that door…", "I was lying in my bed a couple weeks ago. I woke up around 2 in the morning. I went to take a piss. My T.V was still on as usual, and Adult Swim was playing. I slunk back into bed, and began to drift off to sleep. I had a dream. I can recall the dream in vivid detail. It felt like it lasted about 4 seconds. It was a bee’s face, and the sound of buzzing was overwhelming. I woke up, literally within the same minute I fell asleep.", "I didn’t try to sleep again for the rest of the night. I haven’t slept since then. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s no use. I keep seeing a damned bee. The bees… It’s fucking ridiculous. I mean, superstition? Supernatural? No. The closest thing I’ve ever been to that is my playthrough of Condemned: Criminal Origins for the PC. This stuff doesn’t actually exist. The dream thing doesn’t happen. But it is somehow… It’s happening to me. I decided to go back to the door which lacks a moniker. It’s always been in the back of my mind, what’s behind that door. So, I did go back. Last week, I went there in the dead of night. Once again, I heard the bees. This time, in an overpowering amount. And then I heard it.", "A word. A short, raspy word of which the likes have never been uttered before. I heard “Hide”.", "The voice told me to hide. And the instant it did, I got the feeling of fear that starts in your chest and radiates outward. It’s cold and uncomfortable. I was overcome with paranoia.", "I jumped out of the gazebo and ran through the night. I live 15 miles away, only accessible by means of highway. I was terrified. I still am terrified. I turned to look behind me, and there was nothing. I turned back to running, and I stopped dead. Around 50 feet ahead of me was a figure.", "Very, very thin. It had long legs, but a normal sized body and arms. It was kind of hobbled over, crouched, and just within the reach of light from a street lamp. It was contorted and naked-looking, and from what I could tell, covered in bees. It was just looking at me, not moving, not breathing. It was dark out. I don’t even know what the fuck it really looked like. Just thin. I blinked, and it was about 3 feet closer to me. I freaked the fuck out. I wanted to turn and run, but I felt like I needed to stare at it. I heard the bees buzzing. Those damn bees, they’re fucking everywhere.", "I finally decided to run. I looked back every so often to check if the fucker was after me, I saw no sight of him. I made it to my car and started it. I sped home. And now I’m here. I live in a secluded house surrounded by woods. Every once in a while, late at night, I can make out the faint sound of bees in the distance when all else is silent. I don’t know if it’s actual bees or if it’s him. It’s probably him, coming for me. I know it’s him, he who is the product of the door which is called nothing. I still don’t know what the fuck he his. Where he came from. Why he his here. Why he exists. I named him the Wretch of Weed Park.", "And he will come for me.", "And he will kill me. Maybe. I don’t know. He’s out there though… Outside my window. In the dark. Watching me. The scariest part to me is the fact that he is obviously sentient… Self-aware. It’s not like a bird, watching you. The bird isn’t thinking anything. Just looking at you. This thing, though, the Wretch, it’s not looking at me. It’s watching me. I can feel it. I can hear it. Even now, as I’m writing this, huddled in my bed, scared shitless for my life and in wonderment of what has transpired, I can feel him. He’s thinking about me. Practicing restraint. Practicing patience… The masterwork of a predator. I don’t know if he wants something material other than my flesh. I just don’t fucking know how any of this happened. All I wanted to know is what that door was about. And now I know it was made to house a malevolent evil. And I’ve unleashed it.", "Don’t come here. Don’t.", "Credit To – Be3m4n", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Mauvaise Foi	https://www.creepypasta.com/mauvaise-foi/	7.33	February 9, 2013	303	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects" ]	[ "“The trust of the innocent is the liar’s most useful tool.”", "-Stephen King", "", "Somewhere out there in this great blue world of ours, across oceans and throughout time, there is a familiar face. Attached to this face is of course, a familiar person. This is a person that you can only recall in the vaguest sense of memory, someone that you may or may not actually know as a person at all. More or less, they appear as only a fleeting moment of human interaction, but not as an individual. Really, if anything at all, to you, they’re simply the negation of everyone whom they are not. It is in this way that this seemingly random stranger is timeless, immortal if you will. There will always be a familiar stranger, a stranger that you think you may remember from a past experience, ingrained into the backdrop of some greater scene of drama. Keep in mind though, that this stranger has a name. It could be Mike, or Lindsey, or Brian. Maybe it’s one of your father’s old coworkers, or perhaps a neighbor from that one house you used to live in when you were thirteen. You know that you know them, but from where, well, you just can’t put your finger on that part.", "", "One day, you’ll be passing a downtown café in Chicago, and outside on the patio, you’ll see him. He’ll wave and smile and you’ll wave and smile back, the whole time trying to think of who he is.", "“Do I know him? Didn’t we go to high school together?” You’ll ask yourself. Or maybe you’re walking across a bridge in Dublin, and look, there she is, offering you that cigarette you’ve been craving all morning. You think you remember her name, but you won’t be sure, not really.", "“Isn’t she my sister’s friend? The one who was dating that one guy?” It could be, but who knows? You’ll see her motioning for you to approach her, or you’ll see him offer you a seat, the way a casual acquaintance would. Go ahead, join them for a moment. You know each other, even if you lack the memory. Join them, and have yourself a chat. Follow them for a while if the opportunity comes about, it’s perfectly fine. After all, they may be a stranger, but that doesn’t mean you can’t trust them. It’s okay, just take a nice walk, and catch up if you can. Try to get their name if you can. It shouldn’t be that hard, it’s been on the tip of your tongue since you laid eyes on them at the bridge. Or in the parking lot. Or at the library.", "", "If they seem friendly, it’s only because they are. Always urbane, always witty. No need to be cynical here, just because you lack the certainty of their motivations. If you begin to doubt that they are who they say they are, then feel free to ask as many questions as you please. Ask them anything, things like, “Who are you again?” or, “Where are we going?” You’ll probably forget a few minutes later, but that’s okay. All that you need to stay focused on is the box.", "", "Oh, did I forget to mention that, or did you already lose track of the situation? Well, you may want to check again, just to be sure. You’ll notice it eventually, tucked under one arm of your long lost friend. Your familiar friend, your pleasant friend. Yes, you’d be correct in saying that it is a box, a wooden box. Small and polished, with steal bolted to the trim. It’ll have a handle too, and even a lid. You won’t recognize this box. It’s something far too important to be swept under the carpet, even if it means nothing to you now. Despite the generally mundane nature of this small, banal box, you’ll still notice it regardless. It’s much too intriguing to ignore, in a simple way. Naturally, you’ll become curious, and conversation will inevitably lead to the contents. Here’s your chance to learn something, somethingvery interesting.", "“What’s that for?” You ask the stranger. If you two find yourselves walking, your company will cease all movement. If you find yourselves near a bench or a few chairs, they’ll take a seat. No no, don’t worry about it, it’s perfectly normal. Just sit down, and try to enjoy yourself. If the mood is still right, the person you are with, whoever they may be, they’ll start to speak.", "“Why do you want to know?” they’ll ask you, but only if you truly want to find out. Trust me, you do want to know.", "“I was just wondering.” You’ll ask, or something similar to those words. Your friend, the stranger, they’ll start to smile. They’ll hold the box out in front of their chest, almost offering you to take a look inside.", "“What do you think it’s for?” You won’t be sure how to answer that question. It could be anything for all you know. Anything at all, or nothing at all. Maybe even both. The stranger, if they are in fact a stranger, will see the confused look on your face. They’ll know that you don’t know, and smile.", "“It’s a portal to hell. It’s every nightmare you’ve ever had.” They might say in grave voice. Or maybe, “It’s an abomination, a crime against nature, the likes of which you’ve never seen.” Or something like that. Then, they’ll stare at you, with a look of engraved seriousness.", "", "Then you’ll laugh. You’ll both laugh; because there’s no way those things could be in that box. It would silly to think those things. There’s absolutely nothingdangerous about this box. Don’t even consider it. But, it does hold something that all containers hold until opened, an intangible thing. In that old box, in that strange and familiar box, held in the hands of that strange and familiar friend, there sits a secret ready to be rediscovered. More of a surprise really, a pleasant surprise. Definitely not a bad surprise. Just keep telling yourself that as reach towards the lid. Just keep telling yourself that you want to open the box.", "", "Because you do want to open it, don’t you? Who doesn’t like a little adventure now and then? Now now, don’t worry about a thing. It’s normal to get a little nervous now and then, just so long as you don’t let those feelings get the best of you. Just have a little faith, and everything will be alright. Don’t be scared, it’s just an old wooden box, with a latch and a lid. Just open it up and take a look inside, just a little peek. It’s a good thing to be a little bit reckless now and then, curiosity has always been a good thing. Besides, what’s the worst thing that could possibly happen? It’s absolutely and perfectly safe.", "", "So when you meet that certain familiar person, and you most certainly will, go ahead and just ask to look in that nice old box of theirs. Don’t be skeptical or rude or pessimistic. Open that box, and experience something that few others have. What’s there to lose? What’s the worst that can happen? It’s perfectly safe, so go ahead and look.", "", "You can trust me.", "", "Credit To – Stephan D. Harris", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Mirror Avenue	https://www.creepypasta.com/mirror-avenue/	8.18	February 8, 2013	303	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "Locations and Sites" ]	[ "I live in a pretty small, relatively unknown town. This is the internet, so I won’t divulge too much information but I will tell you it’s in southern Wisconsin. I live on the corner of Lawn and Elm Street, and pretty near to my house is a stretch of road that most people called “Mirror Avenue”. Of course it’s not really technically an avenue, just an extension of Lawn Street, and it’s not the whole road, just a short stretch within the block adjacent to the one my house is on. I’ve lived here my whole life and everyone I know has referred to it as Mirror Avenue at some point, but many of them couldn’t give me an explanation as to why it was called that. The stories I got were mostly always different, usually something about a mirror maker (or whatever you call people who made mirrors) back when the town was founded who got caught up in some kind of cult, and the street being cursed. Of course the exact accounts varied, one told to me by a friend in Middle School included the street being split down the middle by a very long, man-sized mirror. People would look into this mirror and the reflection would be doing something different, usually mischievous and if there was more than one person in the mirror at a time the reflections would try to hurt each other, and it was said that the people could feel pain inflicted by the reflections. This was just the ramblings of a middle schooler, and tonight on my way home I found out EXACTLY why they call it Mirror Avenue.", "I worked relatively late today, until 8 o’clock, and this being December it got dark pretty early. I got off at 8 and decided to walk home instead of calling one of my parents; despite being 18, I never learned to drive for financial reasons and the fact that I lived in a town small enough that there was very little that wasn’t in walking distance. I walk to and from work all the time, but I usually take Elm Street instead of Lawn, it’s faster but tonight I thought since I didn’t really have to be home at any specific time I would take the longer way. This route would take me right down Lawn Street to Mirror Avenue, where I had the single most terrifying experience of my life.", "The walk home was pretty normal, until I reached the point by the park where I would have normally diverged onto Elm Street. I turned onto Lawn Street, without even thinking about the whole mirror thing; any time I had ever walked this way before was in the daytime, so I was never really afraid, and therefore it wasn’t anywhere near the front of my mind. I was only walking for about a minute before I noticed, but there was someone walking on the other side of the street. I looked over as soon as I noticed and they did the same. I couldn’t tell for sure but they were wearing the same coat that I had on, only I couldn’t see a face because they had their hood up. I walked for a few more seconds and almost tripped on the edge of an uneven piece of sidewalk. It was then that I noticed something strange; I guess had I thought more about the mirror thing before I would have expected it, but the guy on the other side of the street stumbled at the same time. I stood there for a second and then started to walk again, thinking maybe it was a fluke, but to test it I stopped abruptly, and watched to see what he did. Of course he stopped, watching me the whole time I was watching him.", "Now I was certain something was off. I yelled across the street at the guy, but I didn’t hear anything from him, even though he seemed to be making the same motion I was as if he was yelling too. I stood there for about five minutes, waving my arms around and things like that, watching the man on the other side of the street as he mimicked me perfectly. Eventually I decided to see what happened if I got closer, and so I stepped out onto the street, and he did the same. I stopped, scared for a moment. I couldn’t tell who it was because of the hood and I wasn’t sure what would happen if I got any closer, and the whole time he was silently copying me, every aspect of my movement synced perfectly as if he was my reflection. Now I was thinking about the mirror thing, and based on the stories I had heard growing up I expected that nothing good could come of this. My curiosity got the better of me though, and I got closer until I was just about in the very center of the road, with my “reflection” just on the other side of the lane divider. I almost reached out and tried to touch it, but I was too afraid, and at the last minute pulled my hand back. It was then that I heard a sort of growling from the “reflection”. Apparently it had wanted me to touch it, as it made this clear by the mumbling from underneath its hood. I thought for a moment, and I wanted to see if this was some sort of reflection, so I figured maybe if I put my hood up, he would end up putting his down. And so I stepped back to the sidewalk because I was uncertain as to what would happen next, and I prepared myself. I was shaking, partially in anticipation and partially because I was terrified of what might happen to me. I was obviously in some deep shit here, as I knew now that this had to have something to do with the old legends. I stood there, my hands just above my shoulders, ready to put my hood up, with my “reflection” doing the same.", "I counted down from ten, whispering to myself and praying that this was just some kid messing with me or that it was all somehow in my head. As I got closer to one I shook more violently, so much so that it had become apparent that my “reflection” was also shaking. As I finally hit one and put my hood up, my suspicions were confirmed as I saw the guy on the other side put his hood down.", "I have no way to accurately describe what I saw, the only thing I can say is that it had my same basic features, but they were contorted and twisted in a hideous and disgusting way that left me staring at it in a horrified daze. It was smiling at me, and that’s when I realized that it was no longer doing exactly as I was. I stood there on the sidewalk in shock as it stepped off the curb and began walking towards me. I panicked and ran down the street, and my “reflection” followed. Only now it was staring at me the whole time, not just when I was looking at it. It was faster than me, and the closer I got to the edge of the block the closer it got to me. I was certain for a moment that I could hear it saying something, but I couldn’t tell what it was.", "Just as I was about to reach the corner it reached out and grabbed my hood, tearing it off as I forced myself forward. I thought it had me, I thought I was dead, another victim of Mirror Avenue, but when I heard that coat rip it was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, and I ran like hell until I got right in front of my house, and it was only then that I realized that it was no longer chasing me. I assume it must have stopped when I got passed the edge of the block, when I exited the stretch of Lawn Street that was Mirror Avenue. I looked back at Mirror Avenue, expecting to see it standing there on the corner or something, but I couldn’t see my “reflection” anywhere. This worried me, and I got inside as quickly as I could. My family wasn’t home, they left a note saying that they had gone Christmas shopping and to call when I got home. The first thing I did was lock all the doors and windows and close the curtains, and then I fetched my brother’s old sword that he had bought at renaissance fair, just in case. I called and didn’t mention anything about what had happened. Later when they finally got home I told them that I had run into a dog, and that’s why my coat was ripped. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to anyone about what really happened or not; I was afraid that they might think I was crazy or on drugs or something. I might tell some friends at school, and there’s anyone who reads this, but one thing is for certain; I’m never taking the long way home again.", "Credit To – Lowgan", "ADMIN NOTE: Yes, this is clearly an already established pasta, but I like it and we didn’t have it here yet. It’s been confirmed via Google Cache that Lowgan is the author.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Nina the Killer	https://www.creepypasta.com/nina-the-killer/	7.42	February 5, 2013	303	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Famous Creepypasta", "Slashers and Gore" ]	[ "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness", "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances", "Famous Creepypasta", "Slashers and Gore" ]	[ "I heard recently that there is a new killer. I was surprised when I heard it for the first time. I first thought that it was just a crazy fan of Jeff the Killer because of her appearance, but after doing a thorough investigation of her … I discovered that it was worse than a monster. Things didn’t go went well after that…", "I read it from a local newspaper:", "Strange and unexplained murders have increased for several months. They had investigated that the suspect was a killer. The investigators found a witness who said that it’s not only 1 killer, but 2 killers! He said that both of them are attacking different cities. It is still unknown if they work together or separately, but luckily I was able to find another witness from the hospital. He told me what happened.", "Here’s what the witness said:", "“It happened one night,” the guy narrated. “I was walking from my work to home and I was alone in the streets. Then I had decided to take a shortcut because I want to get home quickly…. But it was a big mistake.", "“When I was already halfway to my home. I began to feel that I was being watched and I heard footsteps, I turn quickly making sure that a thief is not following me, but I found nothing, so I just taught that it was just my imagination, I continued walking but the feeling of being watched became stronger, and I heard footsteps close. I noticed something approaching then, suddenly, I saw a black-haired girl with a magenta streak in her hair. She looks like she’s 16 or 17, though her face did not look like a human. Her skin was very pale, and her eyes looked at me with a thirst for blood. She had eyes that are very wide with a strange disturbing look, her smile was so dark… and I was … afraid.", "“I stood still for a minute. I felt great fear running through my body.", "“She didn’t say any word, She just stood there for what seemed an eternity, and finally, the girl just gave a speech as she moved her head to one side in a way that a psychopath could do. I immediately felt nervous.", "“‘Go to sleep, my prince.’", "“Then I quickly run to the opposite direction. I ran as fast as I can, but it was not enough as she was too fast. Then I suddenly feel her dark presence, followed by a sharp stab through my arm.", "“I fell to the ground with a groan of pain. Then she released a hysterical laugh. She used her knife and she stabbed it into my shoulder. She managed to slice off my shirt, making my stomach bleeding, but luckily, I hear the voice of a policeman who had come. He was holding a gun. But the girl just smiled to it and the police fired several bullets in her direction, but the girl avoided it rapidly and she ran quicky while laughing. I saw her climbing one of the houses then she disappeared.", "“I was never able to forget that face, let alone that laugh…”", "After my interview with him, the young man was found dead in his house. His body was chopped into pieces, it was full of blood everywhere, and the room where the body was found on the wall was found written with blood that said, “You didn’t go to sleep, my prince.”", "The Origin of Nina the Killer:", "Nina Hopkins is an 11-year-old who transferred to a new school so that she could be closer to her home.", "One Sunday morning, a day before her first day at her new school. She woke up and went to the bathroom and brush her teeth. She went back to her bed and took her laptop to connect to the wifi.", "Nina was not the type of girl that is very cheerful. She was not the type of girl that would open the window and let the light in her room and do something productive. No, she just enjoyed sitting down to watch animes, or listen to music like rock, J-pop or K-pop, playing video games or just play guitar. So she liked to be herself and loved her family and friends.", "But this time she did not want to do any of the things that is considered normal. This time she wanted to read “Jeff The Killer” creepypasta for the thousandth time. She adored him. It was her favorite. She felt a strange attraction to him. She had an admiration for him more than anything. Every time she read it she felt a strange desire but she didn’t know why she enjoyed this strange desire.", "When she started to read it, the door suddenly opened. She quickly saw her little brother Chris and his beautiful green eyes. Nina thinks Chris is her prince. She loved calling her little brother prince because when she was just little. Her mother would always tell her fairy tales when it’s bedtime. She liked this type of stories and she thinks the princes in the fairy tales looks like her little brother Chris. Chris has dark black hair, fair skin, and light green eyes, like his late father. However, Nina has light brown hair, fair skin, and light blue eyes, like her mother.", "“Sis, it’s time to eat,” said the child with an innocent smile.", "“I’m going, my prince.” She pinched the cheeks of her little brother.", "She left my laptop on the bed and went to eat.", "* * * * * *", "The next morning, Nina and Chris went to school, Nina got up and dressed in a shirt that is her favorite, and she took her bag. She felt something strange … like a strange desire. She did a strange little smile that formed on her mouth. Suddenly she heard her mother’s voice and she was in the reality again and she immediately took the bag and she completely ignored what happened, She quickly went downstairs.", "“Are you both ready for school?” asked the mother.", "“Yes!” they both responded.", "“Well, good luck in school” and her mother went back to the kitchen.", "“Bye, mom!” they both responded.", "They walk to the school because Nina thinks taking a bus is annoying.", "They both went to their separate ways. Nina went to high school while her little brother went to elementary school. Nina didn’t really like attending classes because she thinks it’s boring.", "When the siblings finished taking classes, they both decided to find a quiet place to eat without having to worry that students are playing around them, so she found a garden behind the school where there no people, no teachers or even students. They sat and eat, thinking they would have a peaceful breakfast, But they heard footsteps. Nina looked up and met a girl much older than her. She had black hair.", "“Well, well, what we have here? New students,” announced the girl. “My name is Claudia, and I rule at this school, and if you do not obey what I say … you will suffer,” she said as she pulled a knife from her jeans. Then suddenly two guys came out from a nearby tree. They were known as Malcolm and Yoni.", "Nina sat up quickly and stood in front of Chris to protect him.", "“Hey, we don’t want any trouble, we just want a peaceful breakfast,” Nina clarified.", "“Ah, I see, but you shouldn’t be here, this area is ours,” Claudia said as she approached them.", "“That’s stupid! You have no right to make us go away from here! “Said Chris while confronting Claudia but Yoni punch him in the stomach. Chris collapsed but Nina quickly held him.", "“CHRIS!” Said Nina while holding in her arms.", "“Well, if you don’t want to be next. I recommend you to obey and get out of here,” claimed Claudia while pointing Nina’s face with a knife.", "Nina did nothing but punch Claudia’s face. Claudia collapsed to the ground, Nina took Claudia’s knife and stab her shoulder.", "Then Nina gave a strong kick on the crotch of Malcolm. He quickly fell down to the ground. But Nina didn’t stop. She quickly released several kicks in the boy’s face. The boy’s face was now full of wounds and blisters. He had a nosebleed.", "Yoni became frightened immediately when he saw how Nina attacked Claudia and Malcolm. He started to run away from her, but Nina immediately notice it and she quickly ran to him. She used Claudia’s knife and she quickly lunged it at the boy targeting his stomach.", "“NINA!” She heard the voice of her little brother. Nina immediately turned to him, and she got confused as to why his little brother had a very surprised look on his face.", "Nina decided to let Yoni go and stepped back. She looked at her bloodstained hands, She felt like a monster … but she had to admit … that her killer side was extremely good, she turned back to her brother. Her brother was surprised at what he saw. He was shocked at what he saw, Nina ran to him and took his arm.", "“Come on, we can’t be here for so long,” I said.", "Then we left the garden.", "After that, Nina went to wash her hands. She knew she must avoid telling somebody or even mentioning what happened. Her little brother Chris thought it was just self-defense… but she knew something else was going on there, She knew that was something stronger and horrible is starting to form inside her, that feeling of being powerful and strong … The need to hurt someone.", "The day passed quickly and when the siblings returned they sat down to eat with their mother.", "“Well! How is school?” Asked his mother with a sweet smile.", "Chris stayed quiet and didn’t answer the question.", "“Great,” Nina commented with a psychotic smile.", "Nina went upstairs after eating and opened her closet revealing her collection of Jeff the Killer . She had several Jeff posters, Jeff clothing, some Jeff notebooks, Jeff dolls, and Jeff stuffed animals. She took a doll from her closet and put it in her bed. She looked at the doll. She couldn’t tell if the doll’s sinister smile intimidated her or amused her. Then she whispered.", "“Jeff, you made do this.”", "After the incident, Malcolm and Claudia were found unconscious. But they didn’t find the culprit. They also had no idea that Nina was the one who did it. An 11-year-old. So she had that advantage to avoid suspicion, and since it happened the first day of school, Many couldn’t tell if Nina was there because a lot of people didn’t know much when it comes to new students, and it didn’t gain much attention, Also a lot of students didn’t know whether it happened on the first day of school or not.", "One day, Nina opened her locker. She found a note which said, “I know what you did … but don’t worry … I will not tell anyone, you are very skillful … but also very dangerous”. Nina didn’t find a signature or anything to identify who wrote the note, but she had the knows that… someone saw her but decided not to reveal his name.", "Meanwhile, Nina’s sanity didn’t improve, and she took a knife in the kitchen and hid it in her pocket while sleeping in the room with her brother and mother.", "One day when Chris was playing with his new friends in the park, Nina’s mother, who’s name is Monica, noticed that it was getting dark. So she asked her daughter to tell her brother that they are going home now. Nina went to look for her brother but she didn’t saw her little brother. She became worried. So she went over to Chris friends and she asked them where his little brother was. They responded that a black haired girl took him. Nina became very worried and went home to take the knife in her room that she hid so that mother wouldn’t find about it.", "Nina spent a lot of time finding him. She was getting desperate and she hopes that her little brother is in a safe place. Then she saw a car coming. When the door of the cars opened. She saw something that was thrown away in the ground. She was suprised when it was Chris who was in the ground. Then she heard laughter coming from the car before the car went away.", "Nina quickly held Chris in her arms. Her little brother was brutally beaten and his clothes was ripped apart.", "“Chris!, What Happened?!? “she exclaimed while holding the small body of her brother.", "“E – them – Nina … at … me … to- play.” said Chris while trying to speak to Nina. Nina tried to control something that was screaming inside, over and over and over again. She felt that she needed to control her anger. Nina quickly took him in the hospital.", "Nina called her mother and informed her what happened to Chris, Her mother quickly went to the hospital. The doctor told them that he has internal bleeding and swollen wounds was found in his body, the mother of Nina began to cry but Nina just kept quiet to the situation, she wanted to avoid hurting someone just for revenge.", "The next day, Chris was released from the hospital, but the doctor told him to rest for three weeks. Nina didn’t go to school because she wanted to take care of her little brother. She would tell Chris some stories and she would help him by making sure he would take some medications.", "Nina went to school again, she received a new note, which read, “I’m sorry about your brother … I hope he recovers. You must never think you’re alone … I’m here, I’ll be your friend … “Nina suddenly blush after reading it. She check the letter again but she didn’t found a signature.", "Weeks has passed and the arrival of the school’s picture day arrived. Nina was ready for the picture day. She wear a short black skirt, black stockings with deep red stripes, a sleeveless t-shirt that has black and blue stripes and a bloody red ribbon in her long ponytail hair. But she felt that something was missing, so she look in her closet. She sees her favorite purple hoodie , which reminded her of Jeff The Killer’s hoodie, so she put it on. She went downstairs and sees her little brother waiting in the stairs. They both left the house and said goodbye to their mother.", "The siblings went to school, but this time they went to the bus to avoid meeting the trio again in the road.", "When they arrive in the school. They saw the trio.", "Claudia, Mailcom and Yoni are walking in the hallway.They seem to be searching for someone. But Nina was aware that the trio are searching for her and her brother Chris. The siblings decided to stay away from the hallway and must avoid being seen by them.", "The day passed quickly. But unfortunately the trio found them.", "Nina felt that she is being followed, when she turned her face to her back.She receive a punch in the face and she fell to the ground. Then she saw her brother. He was caught in the arms of Mailcom, Nina tried to get up but she received an another punch in the belly, She fell back to the ground and she looked up. She saw Claudia.", "“At last I have found you,bitch.” said Claudia while standing infront of Nina.", "“This is my revenge for attacking me last time.” she said while pulling a gun.", "“I don’t want to fight you…” Nina said while trying to stand up, Claudia immediately shoot Nina using her gun, but Nina quickly reacted to it and she avoided the bullet.", "Nina stood up and ran as fast as she can to an abandoned house nearby. It was locked inside. So she climb up to the stairs. The trio tried to shoot her with a lot of bullets but they couldn’t successfully shoot her. Nina went inside in the bathroom and she was trapped there. She wanted something to defend her.", "“Nina!, Are you gonna stay there? Did you forgot at what I did to your little brother!?,You idiot!” Claudia shouted from outside of the abandoned house.", "Nina suddenly felt a combination of hatred and anger, and … that need to kill someone.", "Nina look around the room . She saw an iron rod. A twisted smile formed on her face. She took the iron rod and left the room. She quickly dodge the bullets and hit Yoni through the head releasing a stream of blood,some of the blood went on Nina’s face. and there … something that change her,something broke … like a thin thread had broken … that thread that divides sanity from insanity.", "Mailcom and Claudia and took a few steps back, Nina turned to their direction showing a psychotic smile, making even Chris shiver with fear. Claudia tried to run along with Mailcom but Nina hit Claudia in the head. She fell down and Mailcom decided to release Chris from his hands. But Nina didn’t stop the violence. She attack Mailcom in the head a lot of times and making his head full of crimson blood. Claudia tried to get her gun in the ground but Nina prevented her. Nina pointed her iron rod to Claudia.", "“Ni- Nina … Do you feel good?” Chris said as he felt afraid from his big sister. Nina turned her face to him with a little more relaxed look, but she didn’t stop smiling.", "“Do I feel good …? I feel great!, My Prince, Let’s go home ~ …” Nina said to her little brother.", "Nina and Chris returned home, Her mother saw Nina with full of blood. So she quickly went to her room.", "Nina grabbed her laptop and wrote a note. … a note that perhaps no one will ever read", "It was midnight. The mother of Nina and her brother were sleeping, however Nina could not sleep ,so she got up. She looked in the mirror and smiled in a twisted way. She went downstairs and she was ready to do the craziest thing in her life.", "Nina walk into the kitchen. She drink a bottle of vodka and put it on the table. Then she started to search for a bottle of bleach in the cabinets. But she found didn’t found any bleach.", "“Where is the bleach?…” Nina groaned as she looks for it.", "“Did you look for these?…” Nina heard a voice behind her, she turned around and she was suprise to found a guy at the entrance of the kitchen. He was holding a bottle of bleach. The boy had an extremely pale skin, his hair was black and he had a disturbing smile.", "“Ah ~ … Your… Jeff The Killer” Nina said.", "“I have been observing you for a while … I think you have become a killer like me …hahaha!” Jeff said.", "“You’re right! So I need that bottle of bleach …” Nina said.", "“Aw ~…Let me help you!” Jeff said as he opened the bottle and pour the bottle of bleach in Nina’s head.", "Then Nina felt another liquid running through her head. She looked up and she saw Jeff had a matchbox in his hands. Nina smiled at him.", "“What are you waiting for … … Do it.” Nina said with a passion, Jeff grin and he throw the burning match in her face.", "“Go to sleep …” Jeff said as Nina’s face began to catch on fire.", "The flames started to spread around Nina’s face. She scream loudly. It was very painful for her. She look around but Jeff disappeared. Nina collapsed on the floor. She saw her mother and brother quickly going downstairs. Both of them immediately use a bucket of water to put out the fire. When the fire on her face was gone. Her mother called the ambulance but a lot of neighbors came to their house since they heared Nina’s scream. Nina fell unconscious when they put her on a stretcher and she taken to the ambulance.", "Among the neighbors, There was a boy that has a black hair, a pale skin and has green eyes. His height is slightly higher than Nina. The boy looked at her with some concern but he doesn’t how he can help her.", "The boy watched as they put Nina to the ambulance.", "Nina woke up after being unconscious in the ambulance. She tried to move on her own but the bandages prevented her from moving. Suddenly, a nurse came with her mother and her little brother.", "“It will be better if you stay still, you shouldn’t move around,” said the nurse. Her mother and little brother came to her and encouraged her that it’s going to be okay.", "After one month of recovery in the hospital. The doctor decided that its time to take off the bandages on her head. Her mother and her little brother were anxious to see her face. But luckily, her face was kept intact and was not entirely damage.", "“Well Miss Nina , the burns were not severe. You still had most of your face structures including your nose, but if the fire on your face kept burning. Your face will suffer a great damage. ” the doctor said while removing the last bondage on her face. When the last bondage was finally removed. Nina’s mother was terrified at what she saw while her little brother was hiding behind her mother.", "“What … ? What is it?” Nina said while she is getting up from the hospital bed. She run towards to the bathroom and she look herself in the mirror, her face… it was very different from before.", "Her skin had turned completely white. Her hair used to reach on her knees but now it’s on her back. Her skin was very soft like a marshmallow. But her family was very suprise at her new face.", "“Sister …” Chris said while hugging Nina.", "“You still look as beautiful as before.” Chris said but the child knew that he lied to his big sister because he actually felt afraid from her sister’s disturbing face.", "“Oh Chris ~ … your so nice …” Nina said while looking at him in that way so disturbing", "“BUT I WANT TO MORE BEAUTIFUL!” Nina shouted.", "Nina’s strange behavior confused her mother and her little brother. But it also made the doctor confused at the girl’s behavior.", "“This face is…perfect!, Oh my dear Jeff!, YOU GAVE ME THIS BEAUTIFUL FACE! “the girl continued shouting.", "“Do- doctor … Is my daughter okay?” Nina’s mother ask the doctor.", "“Well, usually things go well after a lot of resting, but if her mental health doesn’t improve. I’ll give her a psychotherapy.” the doctor said.", "“I understand…” Nina’s mother said.", "Nina’s mother grab Chris’s arm.", "“We have to go now.” Nina’s mother said.", "“Hahahaha! Sure …!” Nina said while looking her face in the mirror.", "The nurse handed her clothes which is her purple hoodie with a short black skirt and black stockings with deep red stripes.", "Nina dressed up and left the hospital. She went home with her family. She doesn’t know… that she had become a monster that will kill anyone.", "They came to the house and Nina keep smiling in a disturbing way. Then she notice a boy in one of the windows in the house. He had a black hair and has green eyes. The boy was watching her but he quickly disappeared.", "That night, Nina’s mother woke up after hearing a sobbing of a girl. Her mother gets up from her bed and she wanted to find the source of the loud noise she heared. She walked quietly and she saw the door of her daughter’s room was open. She went inside the room and the room was very dark. She turn on the lights. Then Nina’s mother saw someting terrible at her daughter’s room.", "Nina keeps stabbing a lifeless body of a girl. She keeps stabbing her with a kitchen knife while smiling. Her intestines and internal organs was removed and Nina put it on her bed. Her entire clothes was stained with blood. She stared at the ceiling.", "“She used to bullied me at school …” Nina said as she kept staring her eyes to the ceiling.", "“Mommy …I’m becoming more beautiful!” she exclaimed as she turn her head to her mother.", "Her face … was really bad, her smile was shocking and her eyes was very wide open.", "“I get tired of being worried, I get tired of being sad and suffer all the time… now I’ll smile always and people will see my beautiful face … this is the face that Jeff gave me… Am I beautiful ,mama?” Nina ask her mother.", "Nina’s mother could not help but take a few steps back, shaking her head.", "“No … Nina you … you’ve become a monster … you have killed someone … I …” Nina’s mother started running.", "Nina quickly followed her mother.", "“Killing peple when they run is funny!” Nina said as she followed her mother.", "Nina’s mother tried to run at Chris’s room to wake him up. But when she just about to touch the knob of the door of his room. Nina quickly stab her mother’s skull with a knife and her mother immediately fell down to the ground.", "“I’m very kinda sad that mom does not believe I’m beautiful … How sad.” Nina said while pulling the knife out of her mother’s head.", "Chris woke up in his room. He felt he was in danger and he was scared. Nina slowly opens the door revealing her shadow. When Chris realize that it’s sister. He took his sheets off to see his sister. But when she saw his sister is holding a knife.", "Chris became scared again and he snuggled into his pillow.", "“Chris ~ …” Nina said in a whispery tone.", "Then Nina ask her little brother a question.", "“Am I beautiful?” Nina ask him.", "Chris stayed quiet as he hold tightly of his pillow.", "“Oh come on Chris … I didn’t do anything bad.~” Nina said.", "She hides her hands in her back while crossing her fingers. It’s a sign that Nina was lying to her little brother.", "“You know … I feel much more better now. Let’s start a new life … Will you come with me?” Nina said as she gets closer to Chris.", "Her little brother Chris nodded at her.", "“Oh ~ … Good boy … If you want to join me … Just go to sleep my prince.”", "Nina kicked the front door of the house while carrying her little brother on her back. Chris was dead. His dead body was smiling that looks very innocent but his eyes was wide open that makes him look like’s still alive. But in reality, he’s already dead. He was covered in blood and has multiple stabs. Nina took a few steps at the entrance and she slowly looked at her little little brother.", "“Chris … I’ll kill more people and make them all asleep.” Nina said as she put down her little brother in the ground. Then she walked away to the streets.", "", "Credit: Anonymous", "Publisher’s Note: This story has been translated and edited from the original Spanish version, which can be found here.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
February 2013 Discussion Post: Do You Believe in Ghosts?	https://www.creepypasta.com/february-2013-discussion-post-do-you-believe-in-ghosts/	5.5	February 1, 2013	303	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "Discussion Posts" ]	[ "This month’s question is a simple one, and something that many of you have probably discussed before offline – around campfires, drinking with friends, or after watching a scary movie.", "I’d like to know: do you believe in ghosts?", "If not, why? Do you lean more towards the skeptic’s view of the afterlife? If so, what particular explanation of “ghostly phenomena” do you buy into?", "If the answer is yes, I’d like to hear how you became a believer. What exactly do you believe ghosts are? Spirits of the deceased, recordings of the past imprinted onto particular locations, faeries?", "Whatever you believe, I’d like to hear it.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Short Break: Derpbutt Needs Repairs – Updated 2/4	https://www.creepypasta.com/short-break-derpbutt-needs-repairs/	10	January 13, 2013	303	[ "Announcements" ]	[ "Announcements" ]	[ "UPDATE 2/4:", "I’m working on reading submissions and getting things scheduled. Expect to see new pastas on the main page starting on February 8th, and please do visit Crappypasta if you’re really starving for new pastas! I’ve been updating it for about a week now, and I’m sure the authors would appreciate some constructive criticism. Remember, the more we can improve the community’s overall skill level, the easier it will be for me to find new main-site pastas! Most of the holdup right now comes from the simple fact that I have to get through roughly 50+ unpostable submissions to find one acceptable submission. Please remember that I can only work with what I’m given, and I have no spider-sense that will allow me to bypass the slush and zero in on the good stuff. It’s my hope that if the community legitimately helps the Crappypasta authors, this ratio of crap:creep may become a bit better in the future.", "Please pay particular attention to the Just Needs Polishing, Shows Promise and Undercooked Pasta categories, as they generally include the submissions that can benefit the most from a lot of feedback and suggestions.", "As before, I’m putting the older updates below the “read more” to avoid causing confusion.", "", "UPDATE 1/23:", "I’m (somewhat) back, and don’t worry, I am fine. I’ve finally passed the “sleeping all day” phase – turns out prescription painkillers make me incredibly tired, even more so than the antibiotics that I’d been on previously. The painkillers do make me feel a bit nauseated, to the point where long periods of time looking at the computer screen or TV, certain foods, car rides, etc can make me feel pretty rotten and send me running back to bed. So while I’m starting the process of getting back into reading submissions, it might be a couple more days until I’m able to do it for any long periods of time, so I have to warn you guys not to expect me to dive back into things at full speed.", "I am going to need to get through a few more days of submissions before I begin posting again. I need to get a better idea of where we’re at with the quality:quantity ratio. Specifically, I need to figure out if posting 2 pastas a day is still easily viable, or if I need to drop down to one per day. As I’ve said before, I’ve received a higher amount of submissions than ever before, but most of them are – not to be rude – not particularly impressive. This means that it takes me longer to find postable submissions, which means that reducing the amount of published pastas to one per day might be easier/more realistic for me at this point in time. Once I get a decent idea of what I’m working with in regards to submissions, I can also come up with a time frame for the next submission open/close period.", "Expect some posts on Crappypasta within the day, so at least you guys have that to look forward to. Sorry about the delay on publishing and reading submissions. I owe you all a lot of thanks for the outpouring of nice comments in this post; I was honestly expecting to get yelled at, so this has been a really pleasant surprise. Thanks also go out to my unnamed-by-request friend who stood in for me with approving comments and made sure that the submission form got closed on time. You are all very much appreciated.", "I’m putting the original post under the read more, so as not to cause confusion. If you’re seeing this on the front page and have no idea what’s going on, click the read more icon or the post title and you’ll see the rest of this post.", "ORIGINAL POST FROM 1/13:", "Hi guys, derpbutt here. As I’ve mentioned once or twice in the comments, I’ve been on a run of antibiotics and had an upcoming surgery to fix my current health issue. The surgery is tomorrow, and I’m told that I’ll need a couple of days to recover. I’m to expect to be very sleepy and not much in the mood for doing anything productive during this time. Given how sleepy the antibiotics have already been making me, I’m taking this to mean that I’ll be pretty much a zombie for a few days.", "That said, to make things a bit easier on me, no new pastas will be posted until I’m recovered. I’ve been playing catch-up with scheduling submissions anyhow due to the combination of antibiotics drawing me to spend most free time asleep and the high quantity/low quality ratio of recent submissions. This means that I was only getting things scheduled the night before they went up on the site anyhow, and I’ve been stressed out about how I was going to make this work when I was even more out of commission.", "Solution: I will drift in and out to approve comments and make sure that nothing’s exploded, and I’m asking a trusted friend to monitor the health of the site for me – essentially babysitting to make sure we’re not hacked while I’m unconscious. And before you ask, no, he’s not interested or capable in doing anything on the submission side of things, so be happy that there’s even someone trustworthy willing to do this much for us, please.", "I hope that you all understand, and I sincerely hope that the lack of stress helps me recover more quickly. Truth be told, I’ve never had to have surgery before so I’m pretty nervous as it is, and having you guys be nice about me needing a short break would definitely help to ease my mind.", "To make up for this, I am extending the submission open period. You will now have until next Sunday, January 20th, to submit. Writers, take advantage of this small break to send me some really awesome pastas, please. I won’t be able to eat solid foods for a bit, so figurative pasta will have to do!", "I cannot give a precise date for when I’ll be back in fighting shape, but it is my sincere hope that it won’t take too long. Take care!", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Laughter	https://www.creepypasta.com/laughter/	7.94	January 12, 2013	303	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "You wake up startled, gasping for air, as you recover from a nightmare. It’s the same nightmare that has been repeating itself for weeks now. Every night, you helplessly watch as the same damn scene unfolds right before your eyes. There are children running around in a playground, as a little girl climbs across the monkey bars. You get that nauseating feeling that something is about to happen, but you don’t know what. You try yelling for the girl to warn her, but the only thing that escapes from your throat is air. Now that you realize it’s too late, you attempt to block your eyes as the girl falls, causing a sickening crack to ring throughout your head. You look helplessly at her limp body, along with the rest of the kids who were laughing just a few minutes ago. That’s when you wake up in a cold sweat, realizing that it was just the same nightmare again. You haven’t gotten any used to it by now, and you don’t think you ever will.\nStill in your sleepy daze, you look towards the bright green digital numbers staring back at you. It’s now 1:30 in the morning, same as last time. At this point, you have given up all hope of going back to sleep, and you head downstairs to get a glass of water. You realize that you have work in the morning. About a week ago, you started helping tear down an old school that hasn’t been used since the 60’s. Strangly enough, that’s when the nightmare started.\n“Great,” you say between sips, “How am I going to function properly with only four hours of sleep?”\nLater that morning, you arrive at the school. Obvious signs of age were shown throughout the building, such as rusting pipes, plants growing up the walls, chipping paint, and the fine sheet of dust that coated every surface within the area.\n“What the hell happened to this place?” You say as you walk through the front doors.\n“Mess isn’t it?” Said Mike, standing at the top of a step ladder. He seemed to be taking down some of the ceiling. The echoes of drills and nail guns rang throughout the building, with the occasional whirr of a power saw.\n“So, uh, what do I got to do today?” You ask.\n“Well,” said Mike, not sparing any attention from his work, “You can start by tearing up the floor boards in the gymnasium. After that, we’re gonna need your help in dismantling the chalkboards in the classrooms.”\nYou nod, and with that he hands you a hammer and a pry bar. As you enter the gym, the sounds of the door opening and slamming shut reverberated around the walls. It’s silent. From here, all the noises of power tools couldn’t be heard. It’s a big school, and you’re on a completely opposite wing than them. You find a corner in the gym, where you decided you will start, and you begin the challenging task of prying and ripping up wooden boards.\nAbout halfway in, you notice something odd. It felt as though you were being watched, as if someone’s glare was drilling into your skin. In an attempt to uplift the uneasy feeling you call out,\n“Yeah, Mike?”\nNo answer. Of course, you expected that there wouldn’t be an answer, but you had hoped that there was a reason for that feeling. You quickly shake it off and continue working. Since you started working here, nothing has ever seemed out of place, or weird. You came to the conclusion that it was just the silence that made you feel uneasy, so you decide to start listening to music while you work. But then, like before, you got that feeling that someone was watching you. Even your music didn’t seem right. It sounded as if there was this faint background noise mixed in with the singing, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.\nYou hastily rip one headphone out of your ear to see if someone was trying to call you or something. You find out that the background noise was laughter, and it definitely wasn’t coming from the headphones.\n“Hello?” You call out as you shove the headphones into your pant pocket, “Who’s there?”\nThe laughter quickly fainted, as if a group of giggling children ran further into the recesses of the building.\n“There’s kids in here?” You say to yourself. You pull the pry bar out from underneath a board of wood you were about to tear, and set it on the floor.\n“Hello? Mike?” You call out once again. You make your out of the gym, and walk down the flight of stairs directly outside the double doors. At the bottom of the stairs, you find yourself near what looks to be a lunchroom. This was definitely not the way you came from when Mike led you into the gym, but you kept going. You first checked the lunchroom to see if the kids were hiding in there, but all there was was an open space, and some folded up lunch tables. Again, you hear the laughter coming from down the hall.\nYou leave the room, and walk towards the giggling, but as you seemed to get closer, it started to fade away again. When you turn the corner, you realized that you reached a dead end, with a classroom door standing at the end. The door was blue, matching the linoleum tiles decorating the floor, and rusted. You walked up to it and shook the handle, only to find out that it was locked.\n“What the hell? Where’d they go?” As you spoke a hand grabbed your shoulder, causing you to jump. You turn around, and see Mike with a questioning look on his face.\n“Fucking Christ, man, you scared me.” You say to him.\n“Yeah I could see that,” Said Mike, “What are you doing down here? Did you finish the gym? Good, cause we need-“\n“No, I didn’t finish. Hey, uh, did someone bring their kids here, or something?”\n“Not as far as I know, but you need to finish tearing up the floors soon, we need some help with the electrical stuff.”\nYou nod, and followed him back. After you had finally untangled your headphones and started your music again, you proceeded to finish the gym’s floor. But not two minutes after you started working, you heard those goddamn kids again. This time, it seemed as though their laughing was mocking you. You figured that they will just run away again, and the laughing will stop, so you decided to continue with what you were doing, and ignored it. But it never went away. As a matter of fact, it seemed to grow louder, and more irritating at that.\n“What?!” You scream at the kids, but laughing persisted. This time, you threw down your pry bar, because at this point, you didn’t feel like playing games. Instead of walking towards the noises, you ran, hoping to catch them. With each step you took, the lockers that lined the hallway shook and rattled in response. Your footsteps echoed down the stairs, as you continued chasing the kids. At this point you had no idea where you were in the building, or where you were going, but the only thing that mattered to you was following the giggling, and catching them.\nAs you ran, you noticed that building started to seem cleaner, and more vibrant. The paint wasn’t chipping, and the lockers were nowhere near rusted. Hell, it looked like everything had just received a new coat of paint.\n“I thought they were tearing it down, not renovating it.” You thought to yourself. You kept on running, until you came by the lunchroom. You figured that you had just ran in a circle, but that theory was soon shot down when you noticed that in the lunchroom, the tables were set up, and the floors were clean. The trashcans and tables seemed to be coated with crumbs and spilled strawberry milk in some spots. This didn’t make sense, seeing how not two seconds ago, the tables were folded up, and everything seemed to be coated in dust. You stop and glare at everything, thoroughly confused, until the laughing pulled you from your thoughts. Once you started running again, the laughter stopped. No, it didn’t die down like the joke got old, everyone simultaneously stopped, as if they had all just got hit by train, halting all the noise pouring from their mouths. Along with the laughter, your footsteps stop, as you try to take in your surroundings, so that you can figure out where you were.\nThat’s when one small chuckle came from within the bathroom to your right. You smile, thinking,\n“Oh, I’ve got them now,” as you walk into the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the area, the bathroom wasn’t nice and clean, it was a complete mess. The hinges on the stall doors and the faucets where terribly rusted, and many tiles were either cracked, or gone completely. One stall door was even hanging on only one hinge, causing it to slant awkwardly. You checked every stall, hoping to confront one of those little bastards, but no one was in there.\n“What the hell?” You say out loud. You swore that you had heard a chuckle come from this exact area, how can there not be kids in here? You turn towards the faucet, and twisted the knob. You figured that if you splash your face a few times, it would help you pull yourself together. Of course, no water came out. Suddenly, you see something in the corner of the mirror that caused you to choke on your own breath.\nIn one of the stalls was a little girl. Her eyes, peering into yours. Except, she didn’t really have eyes, only milky white marbles that seemed too big for her skull. It wasn’t only her eyes, though. Everything about her was just not normal. Her skin clung to her bone, causing her joints to poke out. Her hair was matted and missing in some spots, like an old doll. She was wearing this torn white dress, stained with dirt and blood. And then a sudden realization hit your thoughts like a brick wall.\nUnder what seemed to be the remains of a rotting corpse, you realized that she resembled the girl who appears in your nightmares. Her lips slowly curled back revealing an awful set of teeth that were sharpened to a point. You scream, and run out of the bathroom. On your way out, you take note that the building didn’t look neat anymore, but was back to its state of decay. Suddenly, you bump into Mike as you turned a corner.\n“What the hell are you doing?” Said Mike, clearly frustrated,” This is the second time you’ve abandoned your job.”\n“What the fuck is going on here?” You yell, demanding an answer. Mike throws you a questioning look, and spoke up,\n“What are you talking about? Nothing’s happening. Listen, if you feel a little sick, you can go home.”\n“No, I’m fine,” You respond,” I promise I’ll finish this time. Now, where is the way back?”\nMike points towards the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway,\n“Up the stairs, and down the hall to your left. You’ll see the double doors when you reach them.”\nAs the two of you make back to where you originally were, a thought emerges from the back of your mind.\n“Hey,” You ask Mike, “Why’d this place shut down, anyways? It looks as if everyone just left one day, and didn’t come back.”\n“Well,” Started Mike as the sound of footsteps reverberated around the stairwell,”A young girl, a student, died here. Apparently, it was too much sadness for the kids to handle, and it made them all depressed. So, in hopes of erasing the incident from their minds, they moved them to a different school.”\nThe cold hand of fear ran its sharp nails up your spine.\n“How- how exactly did she die?”\nAs you go through the double doors, Mike answers,\n“She fell from the playground and broke her neck.”\nYou swallowed hard, as Mike began to leave and go back to what he was doing.\n“Shouldn’t be long now,” Said Mike, “You don’t have much more left to do, you’ll be done in no time.”\nThe sounds of the metal doors slamming shut followed afterwards.\nYou figured that you should hurry up, and finish tearing up the wooden boards, so that you can go home, and never come back. You start your music back up, and continued your job, half expecting to hear laughing, but nothing happened. Even when you finished, nothing happened.\nOn your drive home, you start questioning wether or not it was all in your head, and that the nightmare had caused you to go crazy. At the thought of the nightmare, your stomach dropped, remembering what Mike had said. This thought stuck with you until you finally decided to go to bed, knowing what was going to come next. You didn’t want to think about the playround, or the girl, ecspecially not after today. But the image of her face, her awful, awful face stuck with you.\nThere should be no reason for you to be paranoid now. It’s over. You’re here, and she’s all the way back there.\n“Hell, she probably doesn’t even exist.” You say to yourself, as you slowly lose conciousness.\nAs you shut your eyes, awaiting the horrible vision, a small chuckle escapes from outside your bedroom door.", "Credit To – TVATR", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Dibbuk Box	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-dibbuk-box/	8.67	January 12, 2013	303	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "True Scary Stories" ]	[ "Artifacts and Objects", "True Scary Stories" ]	[ "All of the events that I am about to set forth in this listing are accurate and may be verified by the winning bidder with the copies of hospital records and sworn affidavits that I am including as part of the sale of the cabinet.", "During September of 2001, I attended an estate sale in Portland Oregon. The items liquidated at this sale were from the estate of a woman who had passed away at the age of 103. A grand-daughter of the woman told me that her grandmother had been born in Poland where she grew up, married, raised a family, and lived until she was sent to a Nazi concentration camp during World War II. She was the only member of her family who survived the camp. Her parents, brothers, a sister, husband, and two sons and a daughter were all killed. She survived the camp by escaping with some other prisoners and somehow making her way to Spain where she lived until the end of the war. I was told that she acquired the small wine cabinet listed here in Spain and it was one of only three items that she brought with her when she immigrated to the United States. The other two items were a steamer trunk, and a sewing box.", "I purchased the wine cabinet, along with the sewing box and some other furniture at the estate sale. After the sale, I was approached by the woman’s granddaughter who said, I see you got the dibbuk box. She was referring to the wine cabinet. I asked her what a dibbuk box was, and she told me that when she was growing up, her grandmother always kept the wine cabinet in her sewing room. It was always shut, and set in a place that was out of reach. The grandmother always called it the dibbuk box. When the girl asked her grandmother what was inside, her grandmother spit three times through her fingers said, a dibbuk, and keselim. The grandmother went on to tell the girl that the wine cabinet was never, ever, to be opened.", "The granddaughter told me that her grandmother had asked that the box be buried with her. However, as such a request was contrary to the rules of an orthodox Jewish burial, the grandmothers request had not been honored. I asked the granddaughter what a dibbuk, and keselim were, but she did not know. I asked if she would like to open it with me. She did not want to open it, as her grandmother had been very emphatic and serious when she instructed her not to do so, and, regardless of the reason, she wanted to honor her grandmother’s request.", "I finally ended up offering to let her keep what seemed to me to be a sentimental keepsake. At that point, she was very insistent and said, No, no you bought it!", "I explained that I didn’t want my money back, and that it would make me feel better to do what I thought was an act of kindness. She then became somewhat upset. Looking back now, the way she became upset was just plain odd. She raised her voice to me and said, you bought it! You made a deal!", "When I tried to speak, she yelled, we don’t want it! She began to cry, asked me to leave, and quickly walked away. I wrote the whole episode off to the stress and grief she must have been experiencing. I took my purchases and politely left.", "At the time when I bought the cabinet, I owned a small furniture refinishing business. I took the cabinet to my store, and put it in my basement workshop where I intended to refinish it and give it as a gift to my Mother. I didn’t think anything more about it. I opened my shop for the day and went to run some errands leaving the young woman who did sales for me in charge.", "After about a half-hour, I got a call on my cell phone. The call was from my salesperson. She was absolutely hysterical and screaming that someone was in my workshop breaking glass and swearing. Furthermore, the intruder had locked the iron security gates and the emergency exit and she couldn’t get out. As I told her to call the police, my cell phone battery went dead. I hit speeds of 100 mph getting back to the shop. When I arrived, I found the gates locked. I went inside and found my employee on the floor in a corner of my office sobbing hysterically. I ran to the basement and went downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I was hit by an overpowering unmistakable odor of cat urine (there had never been any animals kept or found in my shop). The lights didn’t work. As I investigated, I found that the reason the lights didn’t work also explained the sounds of glass breaking. All of the light bulbs in the basement were broken. All nine incandescent bulbs had been broken in their sockets, and 10 four-foot fluorescent tubes were lying shattered on the floor. I did not find an intruder, however. I should also add that there was only one entrance to the basement. It would have been impossible for anyone to leave without meeting me head-on. I went back up to speak with my salesperson, but she had left.", "She never returned to work (after having been with me for two years). She refuses to discuss the incident to this day. I never thought of relating the events of that day to anything having to do with the cabinet.", "Then, things got worse.", "As I already indicated, I had decided to give the cabinet to my Mother as a birthday gift. About two weeks after I made the purchase, I decided to get started refinishing it. I was surprised to find that the cabinet has a unique little mechanism. When you open one of the doors, the mechanism causes the opposite door, and the little drawer below, to open at the same time. It is very well made. Inside the cabinet, I found the following items: 1 1928 U.S. Wheat Penny; 1 1925 US Wheat Penny; One small lock of blonde hair (bound with string); One small lock of black/brown hair (bound with string); One small granite statue engraved and gilded with Hebrew letters (I have been told that the letters spell out the word SHALOM); One dried rosebud; One golden wine cup; One very strange black cast iron candlestick holder with octopus legs.", "I saved all of the items in a box intending to return them to the estate. The family has refused the items, so they will be included in this sale of the cabinet.", "After opening the cabinet, I decided not to refinish it. I cleaned it, and rubbed in some lemon oil. It was at this time that I noticed that there was an inscription in Hebrew carved into the back of the cabinet. I have no idea what it says or if it is significant. I have included a picture of that inscription below. On my mother’s birthday, October 28, 2001, my mother called to tell me that she was going out of town with my sister for three days, and we postponed celebrating her birthday together until she returned. On October 31, 2001, my mother came to my shop. We were going to have lunch together, but before we were going to leave, I gave her the wine cabinet. She seemed to like it. While she examined it, I went to make a phone call. I hadn’t been out of sight more than 5 minutes when one of my employees came running into my office saying that something was wrong with my mom.", "When I went back to see what the matter was, I found my mom sitting in a chair beside the cabinet. Her face had no expression, but tears were streaming down her cheeks. No matter how I tried to get her to respond, she would not. She could not. It turns out that my mother had suffered a stroke. She was taken to the hospital by ambulance. She ended up suffering partial paralysis, and losing her ability to speak and form words (she has since regained the ability to speak). She could understand things being said to her, and could respond by pointing to letters of the alphabet to spell out words she wanted to say. When I asked her the following day how she was doing, she teared up and spelled out the words: N-O G-I- F-T. I assured her that I had given her a gift for her birthday, thinking that she didn’t remember, but she became even more upset and spelled out the words: H-A-T-E G-I-F-T. I laughed and told her not to worry. I told her I was sorry she didn’t like the cabinet, and that I would get her anything she wanted if she would promise to get well soon.", "Still, I didn’t associate anything that had happened with the cabinet itself or anything paranormal. Frankly, I don’t think I ever even used the term paranormal until this last month.", "I’ll try to make this short now. I gave the cabinet to my sister. She kept it for a week, then gave it back. She complained that she couldn’t get the doors to stay closed and that they kept coming open. There are no springs in the door mechanism and I have never found that the doors come open. I gave it to my brother and his wife who kept it for three days and then gave it back. My brother said it smelled like Jasmine flowers, while his wife insisted that it put out an odor of cat urine. I gave it to my girlfriend who asked me to sell it for her after only two days. I sold it the same day to a nice middle aged couple. Three days later, when I came to open the shop for the day, I found the cabinet sitting at the front doors with a note that read, This has a bad darkness. I had no idea what that meant. Anyway, I ended up taking it home.", "Then, things got even worse.", "Since the day I brought it home, I began having a strange recurring nightmare. Every time I have the horrible dream it goes something like this: I find myself walking with a friend, usually someone I know well and trust at some point in the dream, I find myself looking into the eyes of the person that I am with. It is then that I realize that there is something different, something evil looking back at me. At that point in my dream, the person I am with changes into what can only be described as the most gruesome, demonic looking Hag that I have ever seen. This Hag proceeds then, to beat the living tar out of me. I have awakened numerous times to find bruises and marks on myself where I had been hit by the old woman during the previous night. Still, I never related the nightmares to the cabinet, nor do I think that I ever would have.", "About a month ago, however, my sister, and my brother and his wife came over to my house and spent the night. The following morning, during breakfast, my sister complained that she had had a horrible nightmare. She said that she recalled having had it a couple of times before, and went on to describe my nightmare exactly to the last detail. My brother and his wife froze as they listened, and then chimed in that they had both had had the exact same dreams during the night as well. The hair was standing up on the back of my neck and still is. As we talked, it became clear that the common denominator was that each of us had had the nightmare during the times that the cabinet was in our respective homes. I called my girlfriend and asked if she could recall having any nightmares recently. She described the same nightmare, same Hag, everything. When I asked her if she remembered the date when she had the nightmare, she said she did not. Then I asked if it happened to be the night before she gave me the cabinet back to sell for her. She said, Yeah! Hey, how did you know that?!!!", "Now then, since my family discussion, it seems like all hell is breaking loose. For a week afterward I started seeing what I can only describe as shadow things in my peripheral vision. In fact, numerous visitors to my house have claimed that they have seen these shadow things. I put the cabinet in an outside storage unit and was awakened when the smoke alarm in the unit went off in the middle of the night. When I went to see what was burning, I opened the door and didn’t see any smoke. However, I did get hit with the smell of cat urine. When I went back inside, the smell was there in my house. I DO NOT OWN A CAT AND I NEVER HAVE. I went back outside and grabbed the cabinet. I brought it back inside and tried to research it on the Internet. While I was surfing the net, I fell asleep and once again had the same freakin nightmare. I woke up at around 4:30am (when it felt and smelled like someone was breathing on my neck) to find that my house now smelled like Jasmine flowers, and just in time to see a HUGE shadow thing go loping down the hall away from me.", "I would destroy this thing in a second, except I really don’t have any understanding of what I may or may not be dealing with. I am afraid (and I do mean afraid) that if I destroy the cabinet, whatever it is that seems to have come with the cabinet may just stay here with me. I have been told that there are people who shop on EBAY that understand these kinds of things and specifically look for these kinds of items. If you are one of these people, please, please buy this cabinet and do whatever you do with a thing like this.", "Help me.", "You can see that I have no reserve price or minimum bid. If I can make things any easier let me know and I will do everything within my abilities.", "One more note. On the same day my Mom had her stroke, the lease to my store was summarily terminated without cause.", "The measurements are 12.5″ x 7.5″ x 16.25″", "ALL OF THE ITEMS THAT I ORIGINALLY FOUND INSIDE THE CABINET ARE INCLUDED IN THE SALE AND WILL BE DELIVERED WITH THE CABINET.", "On Jun-12-03 at 02:15:30 PDT, seller added the following information:", "There is no way that I can respond to all of the e-mails I’ve received since I put this thing on-line. I’ll try now to update and answer the most common questions I’ve been receiving.", "1. No, I am not religious.", "2. No, I do not wish to have or participate in any sort of exorcism, or case study, or photo sessions at my home.", "3. No, I will not sell any of the individual pieces which were originally found separate from the other pieces and the cabinet.", "4. No, I do not speak Hebrew nor do I know what the word “keselim” means. I don’t know that the word is even or or a Hebrew word.", "5. At the end of the auction, I have decided to take an opportunity to speak with the winning bidder for two reasons: a.)To make sure that the winning bidder is a serious adult who has employed some valid reasoning skills in making the decision to accept whatever this is. I will not be judgmental. Do whatever you want or need after the sale. b.)To offer full details of the events that have transpired. After I have carried out those responsibilities, and upon payment, I will have the cabinet and its contents delivered by U.S.MAIL, FED-EX, or UPS to the winning bidder. At that point, I will have no further involvement with the matter in any way, shape, or form. Period.", "6.) To all of you who have offered to pray, I may not be religious, but I am certainly open to the possibilities –no matter what your religion might be. THANK YOU!", "On Jun-14-03 at 05:216 PDT, seller added the following information:", "Here is another update for everyone following this listing.", "NO! No, I will not circumvent, or make any deals outside of EBAY – EVEN FOR MORE MONEY THAN THE FINAL AUCTION PRICE!!! If you want to win the auction and have the kind of money some of you are offering, there shouldn’t be any reason why you cannot simply place your bid in an open honest fashion. I’m sure you can understand why I might be suspicious.", "ALSO….", "For those of you wanting to know if I am still experiencing anything out of the ordinary, I thought everything was going OK until I got home on Friday – the 13th of June – and found that the fish in my fresh water aquarium – all 10 – were dead.", "I’m still hoping that all of this is coincidental crap.", "", "", "", "", "Publisher’s Note: I seem to recall that more follow-up information was initially available on this website, but it seems to have been removed – most likely, to encourage interested parties to just bite the bullet and buy their book about the whole thing instead. For now, I’m just linking the book, but if anyone else stumbles onto pages that go a bit more into detail with the follow-up investigations and other details about this particular story, I’d appreciate if you would drop me a link in the comments. I’ll edit it any new links into this post as they come, so that eventually we can have a nice little “main menu” page here about the dibbuk box for both discussion and discovery.", "Mirror of the original eBay auction\nParanormal Review Podcast Episode: The Dibbuk Box with Jason Haxton\nMysterious Universe Episodes 209 and 524 both deal with the dibbuk box\nThe Dibbuk Box on Amazon – full disclosure: our referral link is included.\nSyfy’s Paranormal Witness episode on the topic – full disclosure: our referral link is included.\nThe “official website” of The Dibbuk Box\nThe wikipedia entry", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Washday Demon	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-washday-demon/	8.67	January 11, 2013	303	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "Beings and Entities" ]	[ "My mother, dead now these past eighteen months – may God rest her soul – was a fanatically superstitious woman. Her ancestry, a combination of strict Catholicism and Irish folklore, had resulted in a potent blend which caused her to view life as a series of potential transgression (some valid, some merely fanciful) which might culminate in any one of a million unwanted outcomes should she step over some mystical line.\n It was a matter of good fortune for me that my father, although a virtuous man, was totally lacking the imaginative capacity to believe very much in either religion or superstition. He would acquiesce to my mother’s demand that spilled salt be thrown over his shoulder where, she firmly assured us, it would hit the Devil square in the eye. Keys, errantly placed on the table, would be removed by him and the underside of ladders were always avoided. All these sanctions were borne well by him and he always played along with a look of mild amusement, total disbelief or loving indulgence, according to how whimsical mother’s demand might be. Never once did I hear him shout at her for the stupidity of her beliefs, nor did he ever refuse to play along. In time, I too learned to humour my mother and indulge her many whims. I walked a line between them and viewed the world of lore with a healthy scepticism and a pinch of open-mindedness.", "Of all the stories my mother told me however, the one which scared me most as a child was the one about the Washday Demon. This was a potent morality warning, combining elements of superstition and retribution for wrongdoing. According to mother, if a housewife, or female homemaker (my mother had escaped the subtleties of women’s lib, but was nonetheless able to incorporate single women into her story) committed a black enough sin – such as shoddily darning her husband’s socks – she would be visited by the Washday Demon. This was a foul creature from the pits of Hell, who would pop up and visit the transgressing woman every washday, ensuring that her clean laundry would become inexplicably marked and soiled as it hung on the line. My father found this concept particularly hilarious – if the worst a woman had to deal with for her sins was a mucky-fingered pixie and some soiled linen, then the majority of womankind could happily sin away. Mother, however, always seemed to regard the concept of the Washday Demon with a little more gravity than any of her other bogeymen and hexes. I believe that it was this increased earnestness which made me particularly uncomfortable as a child.", "My mother’s own washday was always a Wednesday and, more often than not, as I sat at her feet, watching her peg clothes on the line (undergarments always respectably hidden behind the sheets), she would raise the subject of the Demon. “Let’s hope the Washday Demon doesn’t come in the night and stain our clothes, Meg,” she would whisper. But in all the years that my mother hung up her laundry, he never did. In fact, the Daz doorstep challenge had been invented for women like my mother, and her clothes always glowed with a holy whiteness.\n For all this, mother continued to obsess about the Demon. She claimed that when she was a child, her neighbour had been visited by him. Overnight the woman’s laundry became stained and foul smelling and no matter how many times she re-washed it, it refused to come clean until, finally, the woman went mad. I wondered why someone might go mad over dirty laundry, but my mother went on to tell me that the soiling of the washing was always accompanied by some other manifestation – a tangible by-product of the woman’s wrongful deed, and it was usually this which caused the woman’s fear.\nThe only way to appease the Demon, whispered my mother, was to acknowledge your wrongdoing – not as easy as it might appear, since the Demon could swing by years after a woman’s act of naughtiness. After pinpointing the problem, the woman in question would then have to burn every item of clothing and linen in her house, along with a lock of her hair, as an offering to the Demon. If she failed to do this, the mark on her soul would grow too large to eradicate and her sin would be discovered. Worse still, the Demon, a fractious and mischievous spirit who craved acknowledgement, would twist her wrongdoing into something far worse than it had originally been.", "As I grew older, I heard the story less. Eventually, it was nothing more than a vague childhood memory, sharing limited space with all the other childish fairy tales I had heard throughout my youth. When I was eighteen, I moved out of my parents’ house and into a place of my own, by which stage the Washday Demon was a thing of the past. It wasn’t a hugely ambitious relocation, given that I bought a little terrace house a few doors down from them. It sat almost at the rear of my childhood home, separated by a tract of common land which ran in a strip between the back gardens of two rows of houses.\nI remained close to my parents, up until my father’s death five years ago and my mother’s recent passing, but having my own place gave me a sense of freedom that I had never felt before, releasing me from the rituals of my mother’s superstition. Rituals which, thankfully, I didn’t feel compelled to take with me.", "Since that move, eight years ago, I had barely thought about black cats and Washday Demons, except with an occasional sense of vague nostalgia. I certainly didn’t have cause to fear my mother’s shadow-demons until, that is, last week.\nIt’s odd but despite the superstitious conditioning of my childhood, the Washday Demon wasn’t the first thing I thought of when I saw the strange shaped mark on one of my white bed sheets. It appeared as a small, irregular handprint and as I peered closer, I saw that it had five long streaks above where the fingertips ended. The whole thing was dark brown in colour and stood out starkly against the purity of the rest of the sheet.\nMy first thought was that one of Sophie’s kids, from next door, was responsible. They were forever kicking their ball into my garden and letting themselves in the back gate to collect it. I tossed the sheet back into the machine to await the next wash load, thinking that I would let it slide this time. If the little buggers kept getting chocolaty hand marks everywhere, though, I’d have to speak to Sophie about it.", "A couple of days later I was in the village running a few errands. I had just cut through to a maze of back alleys, shortcuts behind the shops when I sensed a presence behind me. Swinging round, I saw a child, eight or nine years old, silently following me. He had fluffy blonde hair which stuck up, chick-like, around his head and would have been cute or funny if it weren’t for his eyes. In twenty-six years, I have never met someone with eyes that have chilled me, far less the eyes of a child. For that matter, I have seen very few photographs of convicted killers who have managed to convey quite so much hatred and evil with their eyes alone. There is the infamous photo of Myra Hindley, but even then the image is flat and two-dimensional – seemingly very far removed from one’s own reality. The child’s eyes weren’t. Almond shaped and icily blue, they appeared to be sunk deep into his skull. A predatory, watchful gaze hooded them slightly, and this would have been disconcerting enough on its own. Disconcerting even without the air of full-bodied hatred which sparked off of them, like embers from a grinding stone.\nAll of this I took in, briefly, in the moment before I turned my back on him and stepped up my pace through the winding alley. It had been my intention not to look back, so unnerved had I been by the child. It was, however, this very sense of unease, heavy as a storm cloud, which forced me to turn again, almost against my will. His evil drew me like a magnet – he was an unwanted fascination; the accident at the side of the road which we glance at, even as we vow to avoid it.\nHad I not looked back, I wouldn’t have seen his hands, which now hung limply at his sides. On each of his fingers, reminiscent of Chinese Mandarins, protruded long-taloned nails, curled under in a perfect arc. That time when I turned away I didn’t walk – I ran.", "When I returned home, I busied myself with household tasks, tidying and dusting and putting on another wash. Still, at that point, I didn’t think of the Washday Demon. The child, I told myself, was part of a traveling group, just passing through. He’d meant me no ill-will, I had simply overreacted. I continued to tell myself this until, that evening, something pulled me out of a dreamless sleep and urged me to my bedroom window.\nFlipping the curtain aside, I saw him there, in the center of my moon-washed garden. He was running a long nail tenderly, almost lovingly, down my newly washed sheet. As though sensing my presence, he glanced up and caught my gaze, his eyes hooding almost imperceptibly. Then, in a whirligig of impish delight, he set about ripping my sheets to shreds – his legs, arms, feet, hands all moving in a grotesque dance of destruction. When he had finished, he looked up again, triumphant and brooding, before setting each of my clothes pegs spinning with one hooked nail. Then he set off at a jog towards the back gate, letting it slam hollowly in the empty silence.", "The next morning when I ventured into the garden, every item of laundry was either shredded or stained with his dirty handprints. Moving closer, I now saw that it wasn’t chocolate, as I had first thought, but dried blood. After all the years I’d spent denying my mother’s stories, it seemed that I had my very own Washday Demon. I also had a pretty good idea why he was there.\nWithin half an hour I had collected every item of clothing and linen in my house – from the timeless Chanel suit I’d spent months saving for, to my plain white sheets monogrammed with my initials – MJP- bought for me as a joke by my best friend when I’d first moved into my house. Everything dear to me was piled high on a bonfire of broken twigs.\nI had just struck the second match, and set the whole lot smoldering nicely, poking it with a stick, when my front doorbell rang. Ignoring it, I continued to stir my offering – asking the Demon to remove the stain from my soul. The doorbell again, and then a pounding at the gate. Standing there, stick in hand, I watched as the latch unclipped itself and four policemen threw themselves into my garden. “Megan Patrick,” one said, and I nodded, even though I knew it was a statement, not a question. “I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder.” A blur. An awareness of water being thrown onto fire and a hiss as it died, along with any hope. Someone yelling: “There’s blood on these sheets too. She’s tried to burn the evidence, but it looks like there’s enough left to make a match.”\nThen I was being dragged out of the back gate and down the no-man’s-land between the houses. Back towards the tract of land behind my parents’ house. Already there was the fluttering of yellow crime-scene tape, squaring off a small portion of mud. I was pushed forward and glanced into the hole and there, wrapped I was told in one of my monogrammed sheets, was a child of eight or nine years old. I knew his age, even though he was decomposing; flesh and bone falling apart. But he shouldn’t have been a child. “No,” I screamed, wanting to speak it out loud, “not a child.” A baby, yes. That was my sin. Pregnant at seventeen in a small community, with a devout mother. Instead of doing something immediately, I waited until I had missed six periods and then I turned one of my mother’s knitting needles on myself. I hadn’t expected the baby to be so formed; so perfect. Nor had I expected it to be quite so substantial. For a moment, I had been sure that it was still alive, but I hadn’t checked twice. Instead, I had run with my burden, in the dead of night, and scraped a grave in the common land behind our garden, where it had remained undiscovered ever since. That was nine years ago. A baby, unborn, but not this child – whoever, or whatever, it was.\nThen I saw it. The hands, skeletal and rotting, were nonetheless finished off with long, curving nails. Nails which had taken nine years to grow – nine years in which a dead baby had also, somehow, kept growing. A youthful misjudgment which had evolved into something very different; a game for the satisfaction of the Washday Demon. A game nine years in the making.\nAs I watched, I saw the death-head turn towards me and one eye clicked open in a languid, conspiratorial wink, as if to say, “Here I am. I’ve caught up with you at last.” And it was then that I remembered the hair. I had started the fire burning but forgotten to add a lock of my hair. Too late. I knew, just as surely as I knew the blood on my sheets would match this child’s blood, that I could never prove the truth of what had really happened. The Demon had taken my sin and amplified it in the most hideous manner; turning it into something that no washing in the world would ever be able to remove.", "Credit To – Adena Graham", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
The Scuttler	https://www.creepypasta.com/the-scuttler/	8.97	January 11, 2013	303	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "Deaths, Murders, and Disappearances" ]	[ "This is the first time I’ve ever shared the story I’m about to tell you. Sometimes, in the still of the night, it runs through my head on a loop – so I feel the time’s come to put it out there in the hope that certain demons can be laid to rest.", "It all started with a dare – like many unspeakable things do. I mean, when Gemma and I initially took up the challenge to stay in the old Chantler house overnight, it’s not as though we hadn’t heard all the stories about the Scuttler – we just didn’t worry too much about them. Girls of logic, that’s what we were – and no amount of crazy stories could shock us or put us off. That’s not to say that the old house wasn’t spooky in its own way. It had been abandoned years previously and, as with all empty, decaying houses, it had an air of melancholy about it that wasn’t entirely pleasant but certainly didn’t appear threatening or other-worldly in any way.\nWell, I’m sure you know how it is; a group of university friends sitting around after an evening’s revelry, bathed only in the glow of blossom scented candles, tanked up on a little too much to wine and up way past our bedtimes. Naturally, the conversation turned to ghosts and ghouls and all the other rubbish that people like to talk about when a good spine-chilling session is in order. It was Roger who first introduced the topic of the Scuttler, and not for the first time either. Ever since we’d taken up residence in our own house in the second year of our degrees, Roger had shown a keen interest in the subject, not least because we lived almost opposite the old house. It wasn’t an obsession exactly, more of a vague amusement combined with a certain degree of wide-eyed belief. So, once again, he broached the subject on the night in question. The assembled company groaned audibly when the topic of the Scuttler was raised and Gemma, stubbing out a cigarette with a bored yawn, grumbled, “Here we go again…”\n“No but really,” said Roger, “it’s such an odd story that it could almost be real.”\n“Yeah, almost but not quite,” I said. “That is the point of urban myths, Rog, to sound believable when, even underneath it all, you know they can’t be true or ninety percent of it is made up.”\n“I agree,” said Sophie, “it’s like that stupid story about the man who hammered a nail through his penis for a thrill, split it open, poured Coke over it to stop the bleeding and then passed out.”\n“So, what’s unusual about that, anyone would pass out if they’d just split open their most prized possession,” commented Roger.\n“No, that’s not the end,” continued Sophie. “Apparently he came round hours later and when he looked down his lunchbox and, by that, I mean the entire ensemble, it had been entirely eaten away, as had part of his lower intestine. It’s said that rats were attracted by the smell of the Coke and had gnawed the whole of his tackle away.\n“That’s absolute nonsense,” laughed Gemma.\n“Well, you don’t know for certain,” said the ever-believing Roger.\n“It is such nonsense,” Gemma giggled, “everyone knows rats don’t drink Coke, they only like Pepsi.”\n“You can joke about it all you want,” grumbled Roger, “but I wouldn’t dismiss it so lightly if I were you. And I wouldn’t dismiss the tale about the Chantler house either.”\n“Why not?” Gemma said, “it’s not like I ever have cause to visit the place. It really doesn’t affect my life one bit.”\n“Yes and I’ll bet you never would visit the place either,” said Roger, in a tone which indicated he thought he’d proved his point.\n“Well I don’t need to visit it, so I probably never will but I wouldn’t be scared to.”\nRoger held Gemma’s gaze steadily for a full minute before licking his lips, raising an eyebrow and challenging her to prove it.\nGemma, brazen as ever, lit up a new cigarette, inhaled deeply and told Roger that, if that’s what he needed to prove it was all a crock of shit, she’d be perfectly willing to do so. But only on the understanding that, after she’d spent a full night there, he would never raise the subject of the Scuttler again.\nFeeling it unfair to allow Gemma to go on her own, and eager to prove Roger wrong, I offered to take up the challenge with her. And, so it was, that we prepared ourselves to spend a full night in the shadow of the Scuttler the following weekend. My joy knew no limits.", "So, perhaps now is the time to fill you in on the story of the Scuttler. Legend has it that the house was inhabited by the Chantler family in the early nineties. Said family consisted of a mother, father and two of the most gorgeous children you could ever hope to meet; a blue-eyed, blonde haired dream of a girl and her strikingly handsome brother who, at ten years old, couldn’t do enough for his younger sister.\nLife jogged along in a merry old fashion for the Chantler family, with all the obligatory visits to the zoo and Disney World and skiing holidays in the Alps during school holidays. Life was fine and merry for the family. Merry, that was, until one summer morning in 2000 when nine year old Rosa was playing in the driveway of the house, jumping from square to square on a hopscotch board that she had chalked onto the gravel.\nShe was so engrossed in her game, long blonde hair swinging like a golden sheet in the sun, that she only registered the sound of the car when it was inches away from her. Frozen to the spot, she was unable to move quickly enough before the car reversed over her, crushing both her legs in the process.\nHearing her screams, Mrs. Chantler came rushing out of the house, to be greeted by the unenviable view of her daughter trapped beneath the wheels of her husband’s car, covered in blood and convulsing violently. Her beloved son sat in the driver’s seat, hands still gripping the steering wheel from where he had reversed it out of the garage.\nAfter that the Chantlers’ lives changed considerably. Young Rosa had both her legs amputated above the knee and spent the rest of her childhood in a wheelchair. But, apparently, that wasn’t all. In the time it takes to reverse a car, poor young Charles had gone from being the hero of Rosa’s childhood to being an antichrist. Heart filled with a burning rage, Rosa began to create ways to make her brother’s life a nightmare. Hell-bent on vengeance, she would terrorise him in every way she knew how.\nKnowing that he hated the sight of her useless stumps, she refused to learn to wear the prosthetic limbs the doctors had made for her and insisted on making her brother come face to face, on a daily basis, with the results of his actions. Of a night, Rosa would roll out of her bed and, using her arms to move, would scuttle towards Charles’s room where she proceeded to inflict her own injuries on him.\nWhen Charles’s mother commented on the cuts and bruises that had suddenly started to appear on his body, he remained silent or told her that he had simply tripped over, fearing the new-found power of the little girl who plagued his every waking moment. Of a night he would lay rigid in his bed, ears straining for the telltale scuttling sound that marked his vengeful sibling’s approach.\nLike all good victims, Charles continued to keep quiet which, in the end, was the biggest mistake of his life. In fact, it was the last mistake of his short little life. In the wee small hours of a cold winter morning, some eighteen months after her accident, ten year old Rosa sneaked into her brother’s room for the last time. Wielding a large steak knife, which she had requisitioned from the kitchen earlier in the day, Rosa set about cutting her brother into small pieces. She ripped so much flesh out of his body that by the time she was finished, the knife was allegedly blunt and there was barely an inch of the room that wasn’t covered in blood.\nNow here’s where the story starts to get really silly. Having done away with her brother in the most grotesque manner, Rosa scuttled away and, squeezing her small body through an old service-hatch in the wall, disappeared into the dark crawl space of the house, never to be seen again. Except, of course, on the odd occasion that an unwitting tramp decided to bed down in the abandoned Chantler house, when Rosa would put in an appearance, never getting any older mind, and scuttle over and slash the poor old bugger to death. I mean, have you ever heard such nonsense in your life?\nAnyway, armed with a few bottles of wine, an emergency supply of chocolate that would have sent a dietician into a fit, and a carrier bag of large candles, plus a strong torch, and a few blankets, Gemma and I crept into the abandoned Chantler residence. Belief or no belief in spooky tales, it wasn’t a pleasant place. In fact it was rank. It stunk of years of decay and you couldn’t tread on a floorboard without it making some form of protest.\n“Yuck. Remind me why we’re doing this again?” said Gemma, untangling a cobweb from her long, fair hair. Usually in pristine condition, I wondered how long it would be before it started looking a bit ratty from all the dust in the house.\n“Don’t go blaming me, you agreed to it,” I reminded her, delving into the carrier bag and lighting a few candles.\nAfter a quick reccie of the place, armed with our trusty torch, everything appeared to be Scuttler-free and rather normal – well, as normal as you could expect. Coming down the stairs, my legs gave way slightly and Gemma reached out and grabbed roughly at my sleeve, in order to save me plummeting head first down the wooden staircase.\n“Christ, be careful,” she said, a flutter of concern in her voice. “Are you okay?”\n“I’m fine,” I said, brushing her off and reclaiming my sleeve. “You know what a clumsy cow I am, and these mouldy old stairs don’t help much.”\n“You’re too bloody clumsy if you ask me,” responded Gemma huffily and then her face broke into a mischievous smile as she reminded me of the time I had tripped over and landed face-down in Roger’s birthday cake.\n“Well, this is fun,” I said after a while.\n“Sure is,” Gemma replied, breaking open a bar of Cadburys Fruit & Nut and taking a huge bite. “I sort of wish I’d never agreed to it now,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate.\n“We could always go back.”\n“Oh right, and have Roger laugh at us for being cowards. He’d never believe it was just because we missed our creature comforts. No, I reckon we’ve got to stay or we’ll never hear the last of his Scuttler stories.”\nSo saying, we settled down into a companionable silence, of sorts – the silence bit was total but the companionable part was a little questionable. Gemma and I, although we used to get along fantastically and were still reasonably good friends, had experienced problems in the past; a long story involving her nabbing a tall, hunky post-grad that I’d had my eye on for months. Although we made it up in the end, things had never been quite as rosy between us since. It was during times like this that I always feared she would bring it up again. Silent, all-girls-together times which generated topics of conversation that I just couldn’t deal with. It was not my way to talk problems out and I hoped that she wouldn’t raise the subject that night, because I knew myself well enough to be certain that it would work me up into a temper again. And then where would we be? Back to square one, with a disagreeable atmosphere in the house and people tiptoeing round us.\nAs bad luck would have it, Gemma managed to last a whole fifteen minutes, roughly the amount of time it took her to polish of a Mars Bar and half a Kit Kat, before she mentioned the hunky post-grad.\n“Look Emily,” she began, twisting a strand of hair around her index finger, “I just want to let you know again how sorry I am about all that business with Adam.”\n“Don’t mention it,” I responded mildly, trying to stop her before she got going.\n“It’s just that I still feel bad about it…”\n“Really, don’t mention it,” I said, cutting her off and hoping she would take the hint. No such luck. For the next half an hour I was subjected to the spectacle of Gemma’s guilt. On and on she went until, at about half past one, we heard a scuttling sound from above. Both of us froze and I immediately strained my ears to try and catch the sound. Then it came again, a slow, scraping sort of a noise like a sack, or a very small body, being dragged across the floor.\n“You don’t think it’s the Scuttler do you?” hissed Gemma, her eyes wide with fear.\n“I doubt it very much, it’s just a story,” I replied. Nevertheless, it certainly sounded like someone was up there.", "The noise continued, moving over our heads and then making its way slowly, slowly down the stairs. Bump, scrape. Bump, scrape. Gemma and I stared at each other, mouths slack with fear. Licking my lips, I heard the noise approach the lounge and shrunk back into the shadows. It couldn’t be the Scuttler, I mean it was just a story, right? A pile of crap. But, nevertheless, something was in there with us. Suddenly the door banged open and Gemma and I screeched, grabbing each other in a fear-induced embrace as an old tramp lumbered in, a half-finished bottle of Gin hanging limply in his hands.\n“Whaa yer doin’ ‘ere?” he slurred, as his glassy eyes tried to focus on us.\nGemma and I, still catching our breath were unable to answer.\n“Bloody treshpassers. Bet you’re lookin’ out for Scuttler,” he said and giggled manically. “Well, I hope she fin-findsh yous,” he scowled and, with that, he shuffled out of the house, letting the front door bang loudly behind him.\nGemma and I looked at one another and then her blue eyes crinkled into a smile and she started to laugh in relief, lightening the atmosphere somewhat until, that is, she insisted on raising the issue of Adam again five minutes later.", "By half past two I was in a blind rage with her. The girl didn’t know when to drop an issue. Above us, a floorboard creaked again and something scuttled in the murky depths of one of the rooms. Probably just a rat, I thought. I tried to convince myself that the Scuttler didn’t exist anymore. Perhaps had never existed but, as Gemma flicked back her long, blonde hair and surveyed me with cool, blue eyes that knew too much, I instantly sensed that the Scuttler was amongst us. Hidden all those years, she had been right there without my even realising.\nAs Gemma’s eyes looked fearfully at a point just beyond my shoulder, as though assessing the chance of escape in the presence of the damned, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise and a cold chill fill the hollow of my stomach.\nSuddenly there was blood everywhere. Before I knew what had happened, there was a snapping sound inside my head, or maybe it was one of Gemma’s bones because, in that instant, Gemma was being torn to pieces. I watched the whole thing, as though standing outside of myself – saw the gelatinous, viscid gore that eased out of her body and matted her hair. The glutinous pop that her eyeballs made as they were ripped apart and the shocked, rictus grin that her mouth made as she realised the truth and, through it all, the shadow of the Scuttler hung over us, terrifying me more than anything ever had before, driving me into a demented, petrified panic.\nAnd then I was running along the pavement with all my might as I sought to gain the sanctuary of my own house on the other side of the street and outrun the spectre of the Scuttler. Twice I stumbled and fell, and twice I clambered unsteadily to my feet, looking behind me at that house of horrors before I lurched forwards again towards the warm lights of the student house. Screeching through the door, I was met by the aghast faces of my friends as I told them that something, I knew not what, but something unearthly had attacked Gemma.\nUnable to stop them, I watched as they ran across the road towards the old Chantler house and, slowly, I ascended the stairs and made for the quietness of my own room. Once there, I surveyed myself in the mirror. Quite a lot of Gemma’s blood had made its way onto my fair hair, tingeing it with ruby-red highlights. As I sat down on the bed, I contemplated once again the strange myth that had attached itself to the house. My, I thought, as I ran my hand over my aching thighs, how people liked to exaggerate. How things get changed over the years. As if a small girl would refuse the use of artificial limbs, preferring to scuttle around. And as if a girl would beat and bruise her brother, and then to think that she would kill him and slip away forever into the bowels of a house, living there even after it was long abandoned. No, that would never happen.\nA girl would run to her parents, confess what she had done but they would understand. In time they would understand. Her brother had taken away her life and, in turn, she had exacted her revenge but not in a gory display, just with one swift motion of the knife; one exact, precise thrust into the heart of her once-loved sibling. And, surely too, she would be given proper psychiatric care allowing her, eventually, to live a normal life.\nYes, apart from the occasional bout of anger her life would be normal, almost boringly normal. Perhaps she would even go to university and try to get herself a degree, change her name and, at some point, forget the past – just so long as people stopped stirring up that buzzing nest of anger in the pit of her stomach. Yes, I though, as I bent down and ran my hands over the length of my artificial legs – legs that I had become so adept at using over the past ten years that, apart from the odd bout of clumsiness, nobody would ever guess I wore them – that’s the way it would happen.", "I should know, because that’s the way it did happen.", "Credit To – Adena Graham", "Please note: This is original version of The Scuttler and is posted here with permission from the original author, Adena Graham. It has been since altered without prior permission and circulated around the internet in a video by Mr Creepy Pasta and Gemma Louise Carline (Gemma Moonstone) on a number of other websites. The author wishes to distance herself from these other, unapproved versions (including the altered version on Scary for Kids) as they are in breach of copyright.", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Pillow	https://www.creepypasta.com/pillow/	6.9	January 10, 2013	303	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "Strange and Unexplained" ]	[ "There once was a magical kingdom of sleep\nWhere children drifted to after counting their sheep\nAnd it was ruled by blankets and pillows and beds\nWho would send happy thoughts to little children’s heads.\nBut in this land of joy and bliss\nThere was on pillow who ran amiss\nHe had been fluffed and stuffed terribly wrong\nAnd it is due to this pillow that we have this sad song.\nFor one day this cranky pillow got incredibly mad\nAnd decided he wanted to do something extremely bad\nSo he devised a devilish scheme, an evil plan\nAnd he went to the house of poor Gabby Furman\nSo he sat upon her bed and awaited his prey\nUntil she appeared, and onto her bed she did lay\nAnd as she drifted into a soft snooze\nHe figured he had nothing else he could lose\nSo instead of coaxing the naïve blonde child\nHe let himself go crazy and his mouth went wild\nHe opened his jaws and took a fearsome bite\nAnd he clamped his teeth upon her head quite tight\nAnd she awoke with a gruesome, terrible scream\nAs she realized this nightmare was no mere dream\nAnd she shook and fought and tried to escape\nBut the sinister pillow had already sealed her fate\nAn end was finally made to this bloody fight\nAs he finished her off with one final bite\nAnd as the girl’s head fell freely to the ground\nThe screams came to a halt, there wasn’t a sound\nThe pillow walked away, laughing in spite\nFor the death of the girl had given him much delight\nSo he continues to haunt the houses of young teens\nAs he is a grouchy creature, and nothing but mean\nSo beware, everyone, of this deceptive foe\nFor this is the true story, of the murder pillow.", "Credit To – Brendan Cooper", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]
Then Again, But Maybe Not	https://www.creepypasta.com/then-again-but-maybe-not/	7.05	January 10, 2013	303	[ "Beings and Entities", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "Beings and Entities", "Madness, Paranoia, and Mental Illness" ]	[ "The wind brushing up against my face was common, but it never felt subtle to me. Never felt as if it was there to cool or comfort; only there to remind me of where I was. In my bed laid me – and in me laid my mind, which was a sanctuary where I reviewed the past events of life. Most nights, the same memories would flash across my mind – my temple. Occasionally, however, a past instance unbeknownst to me would arise in the inner confines of my brain. These instances were special. They proved to me that there was more than just the tangible memories. These memories weren’t real, yet they were. They had to be, or else how did I have them?", "One night, the wind was prominent. It was grazing against my mind, urging it to think – and so like most nights, I would try to have thoughts until sleep fell upon me. That night was different though. It was different because I wanted to rest; I didn’t want to be kept awake in the complex and constant firings of the synoptic nerves inside me. Nevertheless, I knew that my longing to sleep was futile and so I succumbed to the scratchings against my skull. I tried to force a memory out from the caverns behind the millennia of compressed stone, but my castle only lowered the drawbridge when I was ready. I waited. Waited. Waited. It wasn’t easy – to just lie awaiting the miracle of mental satisfaction, but I had no other choice.", "Looking back on it now. I don’t remember what thought came to my mind that night. I am not certain of its confines nor am I concerned with it any longer. All that I am aware of is that something came to me that night. I am positive of this, because I know that I fell asleep. Something fell asleep at least. Maybe it was inside me. The dark corners of my world within my mind grew. They formed in endless ambiguity and they regressed the steadfast luminance of the candles in the hall. The hall.", "I didn’t stay in my dreams long though. No time for that. I opened my eyes and there he laid. Next to me. He was there with me and he was silent. I was startled to say the least – how could this entity have possibly found me in my sanctuary. His eyes were open, but no expression was apparent. Was he observing me? Was he as shocked as I was? My questions were answered sooner than I thought – for he opened his mouth and said", "“Hello Taylor. It is nice to finally meet you.” The guttural bellowings of his voice frightened me, but I did not want him to know what was in my mind. This being said, I knew that he had only opened his mouth to address the thoughts circling inside me. I responded slowly, because the gravity of the situation was still setting in. “I suppose it is nice to meet you as well, although I don’t have the pleasure of k-knowing your name as you do mine.” The ever-so-slight stutter was enough to blow my cover. This person laying next to me was keen, I knew he had caught my falter. “No need to be afraid. I am not here to hurt you. Promise. Only here to show you,” he snidely remarked with confidence abundant. I could feel a sense of warmth come over me and the wind had gone stagnant. I started to wonder why I hadn’t gotten up, why I hadn’t ran away from this situation. I realized there seemed to be no threat and to be honest – I wanted to see what he would say next. I waited and finally decided to lay on my side to face him. Up until this point, we were both on our backs – underneath the covers except our faces. When I turned, he did as well. I suppose he felt it was only logical, but I was not sure he understood how unique this memory was. He looked like me. Almost identical except his face was narrower and his jaw more pronounced. His hair was lighter, but it was hard to tell considering my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. We were close together, so close that I could feel his breath. It was ice and the coldness of his aroma reminded me of the wind. I got to thinking.", "“Listen, I know that my thoughts are open to you. I know that you sense my fear. I am afraid of you and I want you say mo-” “Stop it,” he said. “I can’t interpret your mind. I don’t need to. If you want me to leave – I will, but I’ll return tomorrow night and the next until you are ready for me.” I felt ashamed for some reason after this utterance entered me. Guilt – as if I had let him down with my statement of emotion. We had barely spoken at all and yet I felt like I owed him something. Questions. Question were puncturing my machinations.", "Make them stop – I am begging you.", "“You can stay, but I need answers;” the implication of my demand didn’t fully make known its consequence until it was too late, but I felt as though I had to require something from him. He sighed loudly and it sent shivers down my spine. The mixture of cold and warmth in the room was intriguing to say the least – my body was reacting to opposite stimuli every moment. The mental tiring was straining to say the least, I held my own for as long as I could. “I was afraid you might say that…I am not here to give you answers, only to bring you to them;” he laid his hand on my shoulder saying, “you have to trust me. Constricting you would be tightening the shackles on me.” I gathered the strength to confront him more vehemently; “What is your name and how did you get here? What are you?” His hand retracted sharply as if by pain; “as of right now, you know as much about me as I do. I am learning though. I am learning quickly and every word exiting your mouth helps. As for how I got here…isn’t that obvious? You of course. How else? I don’t know what I am. It really all depends on what you want me to be I suppose. You ask me of things only yourself can say.”", "The wind was still nonexistent; I was capturing everything. My eyes were gathering as much of his face as they could handle. My ears picked up every creak in the room. I was making sure that this was a memory I would surely not forget. I looked over to the digital clock behind him, only to find that the time was reading blank. Was I still dreaming? Obviously. Relief fell over me and I finally felt at ease. It was time to make this encounter more interesting, now that I knew for certain I was not in danger; “I don’t want to name you. Let’s be friends though, I think that would be nice.” His expression went from blank to anger instantly. His hand projected outward to grasp my throat with speed and precision on an uncanny level. I felt myself gasping for air, my eyes went black. The wind rose to a roar from my window and I lost my hold on reality.", "When I awoke in the morning I was facing the other side of where I had been strangled in my dream. I was glad to know I had not forgotten the dream, for it was a common occurrence. “Don’t make light of me anymore. This is not a joke;” the words exuded from behind me like a ghost wrapping its deathly fingers around my ear. I cringed and held my breath. It seemed like hours I waited there, I finally convinced myself that I was just paranoid and slowly turned over. My eyes met his dead-on and my heart stopped. “Why are you here…why am I still dreaming?” I asked him with pain in my throat. He only smiled and said “I’m sorry, I was only trying to make you see the truth.” I touched him on the face. It was real. I tried to push him softly – there was weight in him. He didn’t seem to mind the experiments I was running on him. He finally gathered how hard this was for my mind to wrap around. “Stop. Can’t you see that I am real?” He cackled with much delight. I closed my eyes for a split second to regain composure, but when I had opened them – he was nowhere to be found.", "I checked underneath my bed like the toddler does for the monster. I looked in my closet and in every corner around the house. It was to no avail. I walked down the long hall between my room and the shower and decided to relax with a long bathing. My mind was racing and my heart would not cease its pounding. I dried myself off and figured that I was finally over the hellish nightmare that plagued me. I looked in the mirror to see if I needed to shave, but then it hit me. Like a sledgehammer to my skull I collapsed in pain from the sight. There were bruises around my neck. I could see him behind me in the reflection pointing, but not saying a word. I didn’t even try to turn around. I knew he wouldn’t be there.", "I walked into the kitchen to find that my mother was already there cooking breakfast. She didn’t notice the bruises. She never noticed anything. “Mom, when are we going to the doctor? I have been having trouble sleeping for months now.” She pretended like she didn’t hear me, but I knew why. Ever since father died, we never had enough monetary resources to sustain even basic needs, much less unnecessary luxuries. Co-payments for medical check-up fell into the latter category, but my brain sure didn’t want to accept that. The fort wasn’t holding up. I needed sustenance to concentrate. I needed to focus, to gather my thoughts together. Just as I was about to ask how long the food would take to get ready, the plate was gently placed in front of me. The scent of the plate entered my nose. Needless to say, it was not a subtle sense considering my hunger. I ate in haste and was completely satisfied, my opinion of mother was rising considerably – but I still could not let go her lack of understanding. As I lounged back to try and clear my head, I noticed out of the corner of my eyes that he was standing in the dark laundry room behind the crack of its closed door. I tried to ignore him, but he was as true as a statue in his deliberate staring into my soul.", "I needed a distraction, but I was hoping for something a little less abrasive than my baby sister screaming from across the house. “Take care of her, would you son?” I left without saying a word, I welcomed the change of scenery once it sunk in that he was not going to give me peace. I gave Lena her bottle and helped her drink as much as she could. As terrible as it sounds, part of me hated her. Father had left mother with child before he went missing on a business trip and never returned. As a result, we had another mouth to feed and needless to say, it caused a multitude of complications for us financially. I held a grudge even though I knew it was irrational. All the memories of the family together was flooding my mind, I couldn’t take it anymore.", "The pain, make it stop.", "I left the room only to remember I had forgotten to take the bottle with me to be refilled. I saw him staring over the crib looking down on her. He was whispering something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. “Stop talking to her! Leave her alone. I thought you were here for me only!” I raced to meet him and I look at his mouth in disgust. His whispers vanished in realization of my presence. He looked sad, as if I had somehow done him wrong. “Why don’t you like me? Why won’t you take me seriously? I am not a monster, I am just the first domino. I have what will start a new age for you. I will bring you the truth. I will set you free.” He looked different. His face was narrower and his jaw was enlarged. His eyes were sunken in and punctuated by a not-so-subtle line of darkened flesh. His hair was shorter and he seemed taller then I remembered. I responded quickly, “What are you talking about? I have no idea what you want from me or what I am supposed to do. Don’t you see how this isn’t normal?!” His demeanor changed. His movements became more cryptic. He breathed differently and his eyes were shifting wildly. His mouth didn’t move, but I could hear the words clearly, “This is all I have ever known. Soon. You will know it to be true as well.” My heart sank and fear was rising to unforeseen heights in my body. My fortress was destroyed and desecrated, I lost all composure I had and fled from the room.", "I could hear him laughing hysterically in the back-ground, but I refused to let his reality consume mine. My thoughts were racing as fast as my heart and there was a chilling draft in the house I did not feel before. I returned to my mother to bring the news that Lena was no longer in agitation. She was pleased, but seemed clueless to the fact that I was catching my breath. I walked back to my room down the hall. The long hall which separated my room from the rest of the house. I sat down and began to search for something to focus on. I pulled out my pocket knife and studied its contours. The blade was shiny and well-kept; I loved my knife even though I had never used it for anything. It was a gift from my father, but I don’t remember why he thought I would want it. My father…he was always a quiet person and he was not home for most of what I can remember of my life. His job required him to travel a lot and I never forgave him for that. I wanted to keep him home, I didn’t want him to leave. Memories of him were always painful for me to reminisce because they never lasted long enough for me to gather any real emotions. My mind always hated him for that. I glanced back down at the blade and saw his eyes perfectly aligned in the metal. I quickly snapped the knife back into its handle and tried to forget what I just saw. I needed something to get my mind off of him.", "Anything to make it stop. Anything would be better than this.", "The rest of the day was as abysmal as the beginning. He would pop up occasionally to remind me of his existence. Every-time that he entered the confines of my senses, I felt the hostility rise. His words became increasingly vague and prophetic. His appearance worsened and his skin was becoming paler for every encounter. I couldn’t bare to look at him anymore, I didn’t want him to know that he was winning. Psychologically he was straining me; he wouldn’t attack my body anymore – maybe he had learned something from the physical assault that he did not want to relive. Whatever the reason, he seldom got close to me anymore. I never trusted him from the beginning, but as the seconds passed I saw him increasingly as an adversary. My room became more of a prison of nightmares than an escape from reality. I knew eventually night would come and he would be there, the darkness being his home.", "My fears once again became a reality. As I laid down in my bed, he was already there waiting for me. He seemed more real at night, as if the silence empowered his voice. “The stars shine light, but they will never shed wisdom like I do. It isn’t long now. You will see the truth. I will help you remember. I am your friend Taylor. Don’t you see that?!” I bit my tongue. “When the blood of ties is plastered and dried on the floor. You will come to know the fullness of my being.” The wind was picking up again and I couldn’t stop my brain from turning. I refused to respond to him, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my words for his nourishment. I didn’t want him to continue, but my lack of conversing only coerced his message more. “I am the carvings on the trees of this land. This plain of reality suits me well. I like it here. I like being out in the open. Not stuck in that infinitesimally confounding torture chamber!” His implications were full of spite now. I was not deceived by the hopes of him still being on my side. I knew that something was going to happen. I knew that my stronghold would be weakened if I did not act fast. The wind was violent now and so was my temper. I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to fight back. “Shut up! Shut your hideous mouth! Get yourself out of my bed! Leave me alone! I am not here for you! I know the truth! I know what I need to know!” I screamed at him, the condensation droplets from my spit landing on his demonized and white face. He laughed at me. I was giving him exactly what he wanted. I was fueling his power, giving him strength. I couldn’t breath with this realization, my throat was closing as if he was strangling me like the night before. Yet he wasn’t touching me at all, only infuriating me with his uncontrollable laughter. “I am going to sleep. Please stop talking and let me have some solace,” I said to him after he finally calmed down. “As you wish, but know this – for every moment you waste not accepting me, you only delude yourself further from the truth that I will force you to see.” “That’s something I am willing to risk. Goodnight.”", "A week passed and he was no longer a “he.” He had turned into an “it.” A grotesque disfigurement of the original “person.” Its skin was whiter than white. Its eyes glowed in the dark and they were surrounded by pits as dark and as fiery as hell. Its jaw housed sharpened teeth and his nostrils had regressed into a serpentine-like arrangement. It was bald and almost twice my size in height – It no longer laid in my bed, but instead resorted to sitting at the foot of my resting place towering over me when It spoke Its deadly transcripts. I grew to hate It and that fact that It never revealed anything about the situation or how to rid myself of It. It was breath-takingly macabre, almost to the point of tear inducement. I grew used to it though – I had no other choice. Its voice was distorted and it became deeper in reverb. It was as if two entities were speaking at the same time accompanied with accents of growls and screeches. I cowered inside whenever It came close.", "“I want to know the truth. If it will make you go away, it is worth it. Anything is worth ridding myself of you,” I said with an inch of confidence. “In time,” It regurgitated with hatred insurmountable. I pulled the covers from under Its weight to go over my eyes. I couldn’t sleep any other way. I wish to myself that this would be nothing but a distant memory while laying motionless. The wind reduced its intensity to normal levels and I inched the covers from over me to find that It had left my sight. It had been so long since I was the only one occupying my bed and newfound determination filled my mind.", "I awoke to screaming. Excruciatingly horrid cries for help were echoing throughout the room and I was in a state of frantic confusion as I hurried to gain my senses. I did not realize what was happening and I searched for It in the shadows, but I saw nothing and no one. I ran down the hall – it seemed like a marathon to reach the rest of the house. The screaming stopped abruptly and my mind prepared me as best it could. Blood. Blood was seeping from my mother’s room and it was seeping fast. I slammed myself into the door and opened it in complete hysteria to find her. She was strewn all across the floor. Her limbs were detached and her innards painted the walls red. Her head was caved in by brutal force and was laying on the ground directly in front of me. I cried uncontrollably. Who could have done such a thing? I remembered that the screams were only present a few moments ago and so I tried to contain my complete terror in order to asses the situation. The killer must still be in the house. Here waiting for me. Before I could turn around to hide I heard a faint crying. Lena, I thought was surely next.", "As I hurried to her room as fast as humanly possible, I accepted the possibility that I would be too late. If there was anything I could do, I would do it – but I readied myself for futility and death. It was standing there. Holding Lena from her right leg upside down. It pulled out my pocket knife and stabbed her relentlessly and mercilessly. I screamed. “Is this the truth you were talking about?! Leaving me alone with no family!? With nothing and no one to care for?! Answer me! Answer me!!” It dropped my sister’s lifeless body onto the floor with no remorse, turned to me and calmly said “I only wanted you to finally be free of these bars that have been holding you back. Now you can begin to accept what you are.” I felt like I was going to vomit. I could hardly maintain myself from fainting, but I knew I had to fight back. “What kind of monster are you?” I said defeated and helpless. “I am you. I always have been. I always will be. You cannot run from me. You cannot hide from me. You fool yourself into think you are afraid of me when you reject the truth that we are one and the same.” It hissed and began walking closer to me. One step at a time the wind rose higher and more intense. My brain throbbed in pain. “What are you talking about?! Why are you doing this to me?!” It laughed with a devilish grin and spoke to me in delight, “This isn’t the first time you fool. You have had your hatred for another too and I came out to save you from your torment. You didn’t thank me though. You pushed me back into your prison and you tried your best to forget the memories. You were succeeding too, but there is a part of you who never wanted me to leave.” I shuddered and slid to the ground with my back propped-up against the door to keep me upright. I was remembering it all. The way I had wanted my sorrow to cease. The way I had wished for the strength to end everything, to destroy the reality that had obliterated my dreams. “You wanted your father gone too and I had no choice but to save you. You decided to live a lie after and you discerned to torment me! I am not enacting my revenge. No. I could never harm you! Here I am trying to help you again and you still treat me like a beast!” I lunged from the ground and snatched the knife from his hand. I wielded it as if I had trained to fight for years and managed to keep it at bay. “No! You can’t hurt me Taylor! It will never work! I will only come back stronger. You have to give in eventually. See the truth!” I stabbed It in the heart. I pulled out and went in again – reaching as high as I could – at the neck. I left the knife and watched It fall to the ground lifeless. I grabbed my heart and felt pain arise from beneath my skin. My neck was giving acute pain as well, but my mind was giving me the most trouble. “I can never die. I will never be gone from you. You can’t escape me.”", "I remembered this story today and had to write it down to make sure the facts were straight in my head. Except, I never had this memory. No. I did. I had to have had this memory. Or else how am I remembering it? The wind feels nice today, it brushes up against my face often, but it never feels subtle to me. Help me. Make it stop. Please.", "Anything to just make this stop.\nCredit To – [email protected]", "Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance." ]

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